Tainted Perfection
by NoComparison
Summary: What do you know about psychopaths? The media portrays them as remorseless killers, who hurt others for pleasure and who have no feelings of love or empathy towards anyone. The world says they are monsters who deserve nothing more than to be locked away forever, or exterminated. Saria Ahmed is a psychopath. And in Saria's eyes, the world is wrong.
1. Prologue

Psychopath.

It is a word that - for so many - is synonymous with evil. Those people who can lie, steal, cheat and even commit murder - all without the slightest hint of conscience or remorse.

Psychologists would have you think they know everything there is to know about a psychopath: what makes them tick, why they behave in the way that they do.

The media would have you convinced that psychopaths are monsters. Many of you - I bet - probably associate the word "psychopath" with serial killers and generally violent individuals. You probably see them as souless demons who deserve nothing less than to be locked up, or exterminated.

And who could blame you for feeling this way? After all, it's what the media has taught you, what the world has led you to believe.

But, what if I told you that psychopaths, contrary to popular belief, are not evil at all? What if I told you that they are, in fact, as human as you or I? What if I could tell you the truth about these people? The real truth and not the false perceptions and lies that the media and popular culture has forced down your throat.

Now, you're probably wondering: how do I know all this? What makes me such an expert on psychopaths? You probably think that I am a psychologist, that I have studied psychopathy in depth and that is how I know so much about them. Well, that's where you're wrong.

I know about psychopaths, you see, not because I study them - but because I am one.

In the winter of 1974, the bloody pieces of Zainab Qualmari's body were found in the woods just outside Kabul. It was a crime that put the entire neighbourhood on red alert. Mothers brought their children in at night, and fathers made sure the doors were kept locked and bolted.

Months later, in those very same woods, the mutilated body of twelve-year-old Farsef Sajihdi was found in an unmarked, shallow grave. He had been tortured, his right eyeball removed, parts of his skin flayed off - so disfigured, in fact, that his own mother refused to look upon his body. It sickened her that much.

Now, you may be asking; why am I telling you all this? What is the relevance between these crimes and my story?

How would you react, I wonder, if I told you I was responsible not only for Zainab's death, but for Farsef's as well? And what if I told you I'd committed both these crimes before my thirteenth birthday?

Many of you would be horrified. Most would not be able to believe that a child - the supposed epitome of innocence - would be capable of such horrendous crimes. But I am.

There are those of you, I know, who will not want to continue reading. Some will label me a heartless monster and refuse to hear my story. That's fine. I will not change your opinions of me, nor do I want to

But for those of you willing to stay, I ask only that you read my story with an open mind. What you are about to read is completely, utterly true. I do not sugarcoat anything within these pages. I, Saria Ahmed, am willing to spill every detail of my life - for those of you brave enough to hear it.

This story is not written to shock you. It is not written to draw your sympathy or make you care for me. Ultimately, it is not written for you at all. I write these words for one person, and one person only. The one who made me what I am today. The one who is my everything, and the one for whom I would give up my life without a moment's hesitation.

Assef Ahmed. My older brother, my inspiration and the sole person who could ever have any hope of understanding me.

As I write this, I sit alone on the balcony of my parents villa, overlooking the smooth, sandy beaches of Rockingham, Western Australia. The sun is setting on the horizon, the waves breaking along the sand.

It is an idyllic picture and one that, if this were in better circumstances, I would find completely and utterly serene. But, as the wind bites at my face, blowing my hair back, I am reminded only of all I have lost.

I am so far from Afghanistan, so far from my brother, so far from my dreams. And yet, it wasn't always like this. Once there was a time, long ago, when my life was different. A time when I lived in relative comfort, when my homeland was a peaceful, thriving place and not the war-torn hellhole it has become. A time when perfection seemed an attainable goal.

But now that goal seems just so far out of reach. Now the world has taken all but the last shred of hope from me.

Some would call my failings punishment for my past actions. I call them a drive to continue, to never give up until I have achieved my ultimate goal: a perfect life in a perfect world.

To say this is my story alone would be incredibly selfish of me, because it is _not _just mine. It is my brother's too. And so I write these words for us, an apology for the relationship I destroyed, a relationship I will do anything to mend.

Maybe if he reads these words, he will understand just how much he means to me and how sorry I am that everything went so wrong between us.

So this is our story, starting from one fateful day in 1974, all the way to when I left Kabul and everything in between. And maybe, once you read it, you will see the humanity within us. 

We are not the monsters.


	2. In Hell We Start

Kabul, Afghanistan

We begin on November 5th, 1974. I was a month shy of my twelfth birthday, though if you were simply to look at me, you certainly would be forgiven for assuming I was younger. I stood in my room, arms folded, looking down at the mountain pile of clothes in utter disdain.

One by one I picked up dress after dress, skirt after skirt.. only to discard them into what I so lovingly referred to as the ''no way in hell am I wearing this'' pile. It seemed each item of clothing I owned would serve to make me look an utter fool. Floral patterns, petticoats and ribbons. It was enough to make me gag.

''Can't wear this.. Or this.. This looks like a two-year-old would wear it.. Son of a bitch!'' I groaned and flung myself faced down onto the bed, biting the pillow to keep from screaming in total and utter frustration.

The swear words - taught to me by my older brother - poured forth from my lips as easy as ABC.

Yes, I know.. it may be a shock to the system that an eleven-year-old child would use such ''naughty language' but I did and have always done. Especially in situations that greatly irritated me - which this certainly was.

Looking at the clock, I came to the saddening realisation that I had little under twenty minutes to get ready before my family would be going to the Quadiri's for dinner.

The Quadiri's were friends of my parents. Javid Quadiri worked with my father as an airline pilot - and they had invited us all over for dinner. This would be my first time meeting them, however, as I usually managed to feign some illness or something whenever my parents had guests round. Even at such a young age, I loathed having to spend time in the company of others, with the exception of my brother.

To make matters worse, I knew there was an underlying reason as to why my mother and father were forcing me to attend this event. They wanted me to get out and make more friends my own age and were attempting to force me into such a faux friendship with Adia, the Quadiri's daughter.

Adia was ten and much too sweet for me to even think of being her friend. You know those people who are so innocent and good that butter simply wouldn't melt in their mouth? That was Adia in a nutshell. She was in the same class as me in school, but we'd never spoken before. I loathed the girl with a burning passion, but I couldn't let my parents know of this.

After all, that would be rude - and their darling little girl was anything but. No, there was little option but for me to suck it up and hope tonight would be over as soon as humanly possible.

In the end, I settled for a white dress with rosebud patterns on it. A four-year-old may have been happy to wear it. I, however, wanted nothing more than to use it for kindling on the bonfire. I must have looked completely ridiculous. Just like a toddler. Why could I not have something age-appropriate to wear for a change? But no. I digress..

When I was suitably dressed and had secured the pretty blue bow at the side of my hair, I slowly trekked downstairs to where my mother, father and older brother were waiting for me by the door.

My mother, Tanya, immediately grabbed my arm as I descended the last step, scrutinising every last inch of me. She always had to make sure I looked absolutely perfect - her curly-haired little porcelain doll. Her bony fingers poked and prodded every crevice of skin as she inspected my face for even the slightest hint of dirt.

Honestly, it was embarrassing to be scrubbed at like a common animal. Did the woman have no sense whatsoever of personal fucking space?

Oh, before I forget.. I should make clear that I am going to refer to my parents by their given names throughout the entirety of my story - with the obvious exception of when I address them.

I shan't bore you with the details of my early childhood just yet, but suffice it to say that parents as cold, distant and emotionally neglectful as mine were while I was growing up do not deserve any such love or respect. Oh, sure they had ''realised the error of their ways'' eventually, but their way of making up for that was to shower me in more dolls and gifts than I knew what to do with.

But enough about that. There will be enough time to divulge my ''tragic'' past later on.

When she was completely satisfied with my appearance, Tanya ran a hand through her hair and straightened up. It was only then that I got to take in her outfit. She was dressed to the nines as usual - flowing blue dress, hair pinned into a neat bun, her lips painted with the slightest hint of rogue.

Despite my feelings towards her, I had to admit she was a decent looking woman.

''Are you looking forward to this evening, Saria?'' she asked, her countenance taking on a more motherly and docile tone as she waited patiently for my response. ''Won't it be nice for you and little Adia to spend some proper quality time together, to really get to know each other?''

I shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my father watching me, a perpetually stern look on his hardened features.

''I guess tonight will be fun..'' I said after a few seconds pause. ''I'm really looking forward to meeting Adia. I hope she and I will be fast friends.'' I was lying through my teeth, of course, but what else could I do?

Tell them both I was fucking miserable? Scream, shout and lock myself in my room for the rest of the evening? Oh sure, I may have wanted to but unfortunately we can't always get what we want out of life, now can we?

''I'm glad to see you've got such a positive attitude, dear,'' Tanya said, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. ''Mahmood -'' she addressed my father now, ''help me carry the bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates to the car.''

''Yeah, yeah, wait a minute.'' Mahmood waved a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes behind Tanya's back. He didn't look at all pleased to be at her beck and call like a servant, but what other choice did he have?

Tanya would only rant and moan if he didn't. ''Women, eh?'' he said teasingly, addressing my brother and I now. Then he bustled off into the kitchen, humming a strange, pitchy song under his breath.

As soon as he'd left, my brother, Assef, turned to face me. Judging by the look on his face, he wasn't too happy to be attending this dinner party either. He made his way towards me, bending down so we were level, placing gentle hands on my shoulders.

''So,'' he said, after a moment's pause. ''What are your thoughts on this whole thing? Looking forward to spending time with Adia?''

It was the same question Tanya had asked only minutes earlier, but while her tone was condescending and insincere, Assef's was one filled only with concern and understanding for my plight. That was nothing new, though. He'd always been more of a parent to me than either Mahmood or Tanya ever were.

Assef sat down on the bottom step, pulling me into his warm and inviting arms. I fit snugly into his arms, my short legs curled up beneath me - almost as if I belonged there. He cuddled me against his chest, stroking his hands through the length of my ringlets. Eden itself could not have provided a better place to seek comfort.

''Why do I have to make friends anyway?'' I asked, my voice dripping sarcasm from each word. ''I mean, is the world going to abruptly end if I don't?''

Assef laughed. "Don't be so downtrodden, kiddo. At least we won't be alone, at least we'll have each other." Kiddo. That was his special nickname for me, and has been ever since I was a mere infant. "And -" he smirked, "if things get too bad, I'll be bringing the knuckles.. Just in case."

He winked and patted his left jacket pocket, which hid his most prized - but also most dangerous- possession. Brass knuckles. An old torture device that struck fear into the hearts of millions, and had assisted my brother in so many fights. I remembered how utterly elated he would be every time he'd used them to bring pain or suffering on someone.

But still, I hesitated. How would it look if we were to use them tonight? It would look bad, really bad - and especially to use them on sweet, precious little Adia. That would not go over well. Not at all. Assef, being sixteen, had more experience with the whole "violence" thing than me.

"Okay, Assef. Just.. make sure no-one else sees them."

Assef nodded and, upon hearing our parents footsteps approaching, we stood back up. My brother drew his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. "Are you two ready to go?" Mahmood asked. We both nodded, just wanting to get this over with. ''Alright, then. Let's go.''

With that, he put a hand on Tanya's back and, without another word, slowly led the way out to the car. It was silver in colour, and often the shitting ground for a tonne of birds. Right before I opened the door to get in, Mahmood spoke up again. ''This night is very, very important to your mother and I, so best behaviour from the both of you. Is that clear?''

''Yes, Papa,'' I muttered, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. God. Would he ever just leave us the hell alone? Always chastising, always lecturing.. it was enough to drive even the sanest of persons to the brink.

''Good girl. Let's go.'' He opened the door for me - as if I couldn't fucking manage myself - and I slid into the back seat of the car. Assef climbed in beside me, taking my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Mahmood slowly began to reverse the car out of the driveway. As we drove along the narrow, winding road, the topic of conversation turned - inevitably - to Adia and the supposed ''friendship'' I was supposed to have with her. A friendship with a girl who, at the time, I would rather have stuck pins in my eyes than have anything to do with.

''Adia is such a sweet girl, such a darling,'' Tanya simpered. ''I'm sure you'll both get on great, Saria.'' She turned around to flash me one of her stupid, condescending smiles, much like you'd do to a baby or toddler. ''She's in your class at school too, isn't she?''

''Well..'' I began, unsure of how to respond to that. ''She is.. but.. we don't talk much. I doubt she'd even want to be my friend; she probably has lots already.''

I made my voice quieter, my tone becoming almost saddened by this fact. Playing the sympathy card for all it was worth. It was a talent of mine.

''You can never have too many friends, kiddo,'' Mahmood pointed out.

He then went off on another tangent about how maybe Adia's friends would become my friends, too, but I was past listening to him. My mind was too clouded with fury at how he'd dared to use Assef's precious nickname for me, how he dared besmirch it with his unworthy lips. But still, I couldn't say anything about it. No matter how much I may have wanted to scream and rant at him.

''.. The Quadiri's have a son, too,'' Tanya spoke up. ''Masood. Do you know him, Assef?''

''Hmn,'' Assef grunted in response.

''No.. I don't suppose you would. He's only thirteen so he's probably in a different class to you.''

Another grunt. Tanya looked as though she wanted to say something about that, but decided against it. It would be best for her to keep quiet, rather than start an argument. You didn't need to be a genius to know that my brother, with his fierce, unforgiving temper, unnerved my parents somewhat.

He would have intimidated anyone, with the exception of me. Despite how violent and cruel Assef could be, we both loved each other far too much to ever hurt one another in any way, physical or otherwise. Maybe it was a sibling bond, maybe we were just kindred spirits.. who knows? It is a bond that still holds a place in my heart even all these years later.

Assef leaned his head back against the seat, and nobody else spoke after that.

X x x

''Well, here we are,'' Mahmood said about twenty minutes later. He parked the car in the driveway of a large house with wrought iron gates. As I craned my neck to look up, I noticed that, while it was by no means tiny, my home was substantially bigger than it. Clearly this family weren't as well off as mine.

'Good,' I thought with a vindictive smirk, 'I already have one up on the little bitch.'

I hopped out of the car, tucking a stray blonde curl behind my ear as my father once again led the way for us. Despite my hardened, uncaring attitude, I have to admit I did feel somewhat nervous as we approached the front door. Maybe it was the thought of spending time with people I didn't know, or maybe I was just too tired of having to make a constant impression with people.

Whatever the case, there wasn't much I could do about it now.

Mahmood rapped on the door with his knuckles, then stood back. When two minutes passed with no answer, he tried again. It was clear these people were taking their sweet fucking time answering us. But, on the third knock, the door did open.

A tall, dark-haired man in suit and tie stood before us, grinning at my father. ''Mahmood jan,'' he exclaimed in a booming voice that almost defeaned me. ''So nice of you and Tanya to come.. and you brought the family too. Wonderful.''

''Full house tonight, Javid,'' Mahmood laughed, clapping the other man's shoulder and turning back to face us. ''You already know Tanya, of course. And these are our children, Saria and Assef.''

Javid nodded a quick hello at Tanya and Assef, then, unfortunately, focused his attention on me. ''You're in the same class as my little girl, aren't you?'' he asked. I nodded once, and he continued. ''You look younger than her, though. How old are you again, dear? Eight?''

'Eight?! Son of a fucking bitch, I'll rip your throat out for that!' I thought, struggling not to scream the words aloud. Yes, I looked young. Yes, at best I could be mistaken for an eight-year-old, but did he need to rub it in? And wouldn't Mahmood have told him how old I really was, anyway? Clearly this man was just mocking me, something I couldn't stand.

In a sugary sweet voice that cleverly masked my ire, I replied, ''I'm eleven, sir. Twelve next month, actually.''

Javid opened his mouth to respond to that, but was cut off when a small, brown-eyed girl with dark pigtails bounded up to the front door, a big smile stretching across her face. She looked back and forth between us all, and clapped her hands joyfully.

''Hi!'' she chirped. ''It's so nice to have you tonight. Thank you for coming.'' They were words I suspect her parents had instructed her to say. No child could be that much of a kiss ass, could they? Fuck, I had only spent two seconds with the girl and already I found her annoying as all hell. How was I meant to cope spending an entire evening with her?

She pushed past everyone, and grabbed my hand. ''You must be Saria,'' she beamed. ''I'm Adia. I see you in class all the time, but I've never said hi before. It's nice to finally meet you properly.''

I barely had time to respond before she practically dragged me inside, pleading with Javid to let me come play in her room. Inwardly, I begged any deity out there that he would say no. That dinner was nearly ready. Anything. Just so I wouldn't have to be around this annoying, bubbly little brat. But no.

Instead, Javid gave his permission and soon I found myself being reluctantly led up the stairs, as my mother handed over chocolate and flowers, and the adults all laughed and disappeared into the living room.

X x x

''The boy with you, is he your brother?'' Adia asked, as we sat on the edge of her bed. I'd kicked off my shoes and was stretching my lace-socked feet out in front of me.

I turned, and nodded once. ''Yes.'' She wasn't going to get any more than one word answers from me. Though that didn't stop her from asking.

''Are you close?''

''Very. He means more to me than anyone in the world.''

A strange expression passed across Adia's face for a fleeting moment, almost as though she was saddened by how close my brother and I were. No... saddened wasn't the right word. Jealous, perhaps. I remembered Tanya saying that Adia had an older brother, too. Were they not as close as she'd have liked, perhaps?

Whatever the reason, I wanted to find out. And if I caused some emotional pain to the girl by asking? All the better for me. "What about you and your brother? Are you two close?"

She hesitated, not looking at me in the eye as she spoke. "Yeah.. We are. I love him a whole lot. He's.. got a bit of a cold, though, so he's staying in his room and not coming down for dinner. It's a pity, he was really looking forward to meeting you."

"So was I." Yeah. Looking forward to it like a hole in the fucking head.

Adia smiled at me and gave my hand a soft, friendly pat. I pulled back from her, clenching my jaw. I didn't want this tiny bitch thinking there was any hope of friendship between us. She seemed to notice my hesitance to engage, her shoulders sagging, kicking her feet against the white carpet.

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. Adia continued talking, droning on and on about school, and the mullahs, and how she wanted to spend more time with me, how I would have to come play after school now. Despite how much I tried to ignore it, her voice still grated in my ears. I just wanted to grab her tongue, tear it from her mouth and shut her up.

But, luckily, I was saved listening to her any more as we were called down to dinner. We went downstairs and into the dining room. A slim woman in a green dress approached us, putting a hand on Adia's shoulder.

"Go and sit down, darling," she ordered. Then, smiling, she turned to me. "It's nice to meet you, Saria jan. I'm Faraya, Adia's mother. Sit down, please.. make yourself comfortable. Here, take a seat next to Adia."

I grit my teeth. I didn't want to sit next to Adia. Couldn't I just sit next to my brother? What would be wrong with that? God, tonight was becoming even more irritating with each passing second.

Assef looked sympathetically at me. Still, he couldn't do a thing to help. I remained in utter silence as we ate, listening in on the conversation between my mother and Faraya. It was about tennis - a sport Tanya told me she often played with her cousins growing up in Berlin.

I didn't pay much attention after that, absently picking at the food on my plate. Adia was excitedly talking about how, just last week, she'd gone to the zoo and seen the new lion cubs. Woop de fucking do. Then, just as she flung her hands out to emphasise how big the cubs were, it happened.

Her hand smacked into my glass of juice, knocking it into my lap. It saturated my dress, turning the one pristine white an almost piss yellow in colour. She covered her mouth with her hands, staring wide-eyed at me.

''Oh my, Saria! I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorr-''

Smack. Adia's head jerked to the side as my hand connected with her flesh. The stunned, horrified little girl gave a whimper, touching her now reddening cheek. To this day, I regret how I reacted. Not because I hurt anyone, no, simply because I got caught doing so. So stupid. I should have been more careful. But, at the time, I wasn't thinking like that. No, at the time, all I could see was red.

''You dumb bitch!'' I screamed, spit flying from my mouth. ''Look what you've fucking done, can't you keep your damn hands to yourself?! You're so fucking STUPID, such a retard! Such a dumb little CUNT!''

With that tirade of verbal assault over, I picked up my plate, still laden with food, and hurled it across the room. It smashed off the wall, raining bits of peas, meat and potato down onto the freshly washed tiles. I stood there, chest heaving, glaring around the table at the stunned, horrified faces of the other diners.

Mahmood stood, looking positively livid, and grabbed my arm. ''Young lady, you are in for a world of trouble. What on earth possessed you to behave in such a deplorable manner? Hm? Is this the way we behave in another's home? Hm? Is it?''

He was screaming now, much like I had been, his grip on my upper arm now so tight it was painful. I tried to explain, to plead for some amount of mercy, for him to understand my reasons for lashing out, but he was having none of it.

Instead, he directed the conversation to both my mother and the Quadiri's. ''I'm dreadfully sorry for this. It seems Saria here needs a sharp lesson in respect for others. A lesson which, if you'll permit, I'd like to teach right here and now.''

''I see no problem with that, Mahmood jan.'' Javid's voice was low and cold. ''You do what is necessary.''

''Indeed I shall, and I want you all to be a witness to this. Come, Saria Adelah.''

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh son of a bitch! Middle name? I was in big trouble now. And 'teach me here and now?' Please don't let him mean what I think he means! ''P-Papa..'' I begged in a tiny, scared voice. ''Papa please.. I'm sorry..''

But my words fell on deaf ears as I was dragged into the living room, everyone else following. Mahmood began to unbuckle his belt. ''Lift up your skirt and lean over the couch,'' he ordered.

''What?! In front of all these people? You can't! Papa, no! Can't you just ground me or something?!''

Mahmood shook his head. ''No, young lady. Since your actions caused embarrassment to us and extreme physical pain to Adia, it's only fair that your punishment cause you embarrassment and extreme physical pain now. I'm giving you three seconds to have that dress lifted and your bottom leaned over that couch. If not, your panties are going down too.''

Terrified, I looked at the others, hoping someone would step forward and become my hero. Someone save me. Someone help. I looked at my brother, who looked horrified at the prospect of my upcoming whipping. Still, he could do nothing to help. Stepping in would only make matters worse for me. He sank back into an empty seat, covering his face with his hands.

With tears now pooling down my face, I raised my skirts and leaned over the couch - as instructed. The belt whistled through the air, as with a deafening crack it made contact with its target. I screamed out in pain, my body lurching forward, feet kicking as I struggled to keep position. Mahmood lay into me with that belt, whipping my ass, legs and the middle of my back repeatedly, until I could think of nothing else but the searing agony my poor, defenceless body was forced to endure.

He must have given me at least twenty-five or thirty lashes, I have no clue, but it felt like a hundred thousand. I screamed, pleaded and begged for him to stop, hating myself for it with each tearful word. I had more self-pride than that. My hatred for my parents burned ever more fiercely with each lash I received. How dare Mahmood beat me, and how dare Tanya stand by and allow it. I was even furious with the Quadiri's for watching.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my punishment was over. I collapsed, sobbing, onto the floor as my father looped the belt back through his pants. ''I hope you learned a lesson, young lady.. Now, what have you to say for yourself?''

... ''I'm.. I'm s-s-sorry,'' I lied, feeling myself flush with the shame of having been given the belt in front of witnesses. ''I'm s-so s-s-sorry. It won't h-happen again.''

''You're right it won't. And she will be giving you a written apology too,'' Mahmood informed them. ''A three-page apology letter in her best penmanship.''

Javid nodded and Faraya, who had an arm around Adia, shot me a cold glare as I stood up, legs trembling, and righted myself again.

X x x

That night, I lay face down on my bed, sobbing bitter tears as my loving brother held my hand and rubbed soft, gentle circles into my back. ''Kiddo..'' he whispered. ''I'm so, so sorry I couldn't help. I feel awful for that. That bastard really lay into you.''

''Don't I know it?'' I scoffed. ''And the fucking nerve of him to do it in front of them. I bet the little cunt got real satisfaction from watching, didn't she? Self-righteous bitch, I could gut her jaw to groin. Her fault, Assef, it's all her fault.''

Assef pulled me close, covering both of us with the blanket and lovingly kissing my forehead. ''We'll get her back, kiddo. I promise. Together, we'll find a way. Nobody gets my little sister in trouble and gets away with it. I'll help you make her suffer. But for now, though, you need some sleep.''

''A-Alright, Assef.. I love you.'' Then, in a quieter voice, I added, ''from the moon to all the stars.''

''From the moon to the end of the universe.''

''More,'' I muttered drowsily, feeling my eyes start to close.

''Not possible,'' Assef chuckled, and kissed the top of my head. Childish for us to have this little ritual, I know, but my brother just brought out that side of me. And, I had to admit, I kind of liked it. It gave me the security I so desperately needed right then.

As I drifted to sleep in Assef's warm, comforting arms, I indulged myself with the satisfying knowledge that Adia would pay for what she had done to me.

Pay in blood.


	3. To Seek Forgiveness

Tanya snatched the plate of half-eaten buttered toast away from me, tossing it in the sink with such force it almost cracked.

''I wasn't fi-'' I began, but a sharp glare in my direction told me it would be best to keep quiet. I was, after all, still in my parents bad books after my little stunt last week. Neither of them could even talk to me without bringing it up, or making some subtle reference to my ''obscene, derogatory remarks,'' or ''unladylike behaviour.''

It was pathetic, really. And it irked me to no end that they would only pin blame upon me for what had happened. What about Adia? What about her spilling that drink on me, ruining my dress? Why had she gotten off scot-free? She should have been the one who got the belt. She should have been the one to be punished. I had done nothing wrong. My only crime was reacting in the way most people would have done in that situation.

Tanya reached out a long-nailed hand and roughly grabbed my chin, jerking my head forward. I bit back a feral hiss, and meekly looked up at her. Time to become the dutiful, perfect daughter again. Time to play the part.

''Caa, khanom?''

I'd referred to her as 'ma'am', as was expected of me when I was in disgrace. Tanya relaxed her grip slightly, nodding her approval. Good. Anything to get her to stop giving me that irritating, pretentious look. Who did she think she was? Was she so damn perfect she'd never lost her temper, never reacted on impulse as I had?

''Your father and I are going to a business meeting. While we're gone I expect you to clean the dishes and put away the laundry. Then, you are to write your apology letter to the Quadiri family. They're coming for dinner at four o'clock - a dinner I fully expect you to assist your brother in making."

I nodded as though her words were the most interesting I'd ever heard in all my life, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes, Mama."

She pointed a stern finger in my face, right between my eyes. How I longed to break off the offending appendage and stab her in the throat with her own perfectly manicured nail.

My fingers involuntarily twitched as these rancid thoughts made their way into my brain. I kept my gaze focused on the wall behind her, not daring to look in her eyes for fear that doing so would make me completely lose it.

"Listen to me, Saria Adelah Ahmed, because this is your first and only warning: if I see a repeat of your behaviour last Wednesday, the punishment you got from your father will seem insignificant in comparison to what will happen. We're very, very fortunate that Javid and Faraya still even want anything to do with us after your despicable behaviour, young lady. If I see anything less than impeccable, ladylike manners tonight then your bottom and my hairbrush will be meeting again. Do you understand?"

Her hairbrush - a large, wooden, oval monstrosity - was rarely used for its intended purpose and had often been fashioned into a deadly weapon to blister both myself and Assef as children. Though, if you ask me, it seemed she used that brush just for the sheer joy of causing us pain than any form of "punishment."

In fact, my worst ever punishment had come at the unforgiving touch of that brush. A seven-year-old Saria, frightened by the growling of next door's German shepard, had darted out into a busy road and wound up facing nightly hairbrush spankings for a week. After that, I vowed I'd do everything in my power to avoid the dreaded implement and I wasn't about to stop now.

"I understand, khanom. I'll be sure to behave as expected."

She nodded once and then, relinquishing her grip on me, turned and left the kitchen. The door slammed shut in her wake, leaving me alone once more. I sighed, reluctantly getting up and making my way to the sink.

It was filled almost to the brim with piles upon piles of dirty dishes, some of which had been left there overnight. Even looking at it was enough to make me gag. How was I supposed to clean the damn thing up? I'd sooner shove my hand in rancid piss. But what choice did I have?

As I stood there, trying to work up the courage to place my hands into the murky brown water, the door opened again. I immediately tensed, fearing it to be a watchful, stalking parent but luckily for me, it turned out to be my brother. He crossed to my side in five quick steps, giving me a sympathetic smile.

"So," he said, looking down at the sink with a raised brow. "You're on dish duty, huh, kiddo?"

I nodded, wrinkling my nose in contempt. "Unfortunately." I ran my finger along the edge of a plate, almost retching at the grime it left behind. "Disgusting. Wasn't Hamilra supposed to clean up last night?"

Assef laughed, ruffling my hair. "Come on, Sar, do you really think that filthy Hazara could do anything right?"

"Mhm," I mused. "You're right, brother. She probably forgot all about it. Typical Hazara; a dog would do a better job of cleaning up."

"Well, the dog would be smarter, kiddo."

I sniggered. I loved my brother's quick wit and sharp tongue. He could make even the most offensive of insults sound hilarious, especially ones directed towards the filthy, worthless Hazara race.

Brushing a stray curl out of my eyes, Assef leaned down to whisper in my ear. "You know, Saria, I think such laziness deserves severe punishment, don't you?"

He gave me a sly wink and I returned the gesture. Assef's eyes lit up at the prospect of causing Hamilra pain, and in the reflection of his pupils, I could see mine were doing the same. We both had that same twisted, maniacal grin on our faces - the thought of our sadistic acts nearly as thrilling as committing them would be.

The beautiful image of a sobbing, pleading Hamilra lying broken and bruised at my feet entered my mind. Not even the most skilled and revered of artists could have conjured up a more satisfying picture.

But, unfortunately, my brother's next words brought me right out of my happy place.

"The bitch and her family coming for tea?"

The bitch was our ever so "loving" nickname for Adia. Assef's voice instantly went from caring and warm, to cold and unforgiving at the mere mention of our newest enemy. I nodded once.

"Yes. Joy a-fucking-bove," I spat through gritted teeth. "You and I are making dinner."

"We are?"

"We are. A pity we can't drop a few tablets in Adia's portion."

Assef gave me a "you have a lot to learn" look, shaking his head fondly. "Ah, but you see, dear sister, vengeance is much better served when it is slow and deliberate. Tanya and Mahmood want you to befriend the girl, right?"

"They do. Believe me I'd rather put a bullet through my skull than ever -"

My brother cut me off with a finger pressed to my lips. I tilted my head to look up at him. "Friendship means control, Saria. At least, for you and I. Think of how skilled we are, how brilliant, how much better than the common people. It'll be easy for you to have little Adia twisted under your finger - just as I have Wali and Kamal."

Wali and Kamal were two boys living in the Wazir Akbhar Khan neighbourhood. They'd known Assef since they were five-years-old, and for years my brother had maintained a tight control over both of them. He was master, and they the pitiful, grovelling slaves.

I felt a tingle in my body at the thought of doing the same to Adia. I craved, I needed to be in complete control. I needed to dominate her, mind, body and spirit. She would be mine.

Yes, this would be my game to play now. Mine and mine alone.

X x x

Apology letters are notoriously hard to write, especially if you aren't at all sorry.

I sat at my desk, pen in hand, a generous helping of paper spread out before me. I'd been up here for the past two hours, trying and failing to write an adequate apology. Each time I put pen to paper, I'd end up at a blank wall. How do you say sorry to a person whose neck you'd rather snap than show remorse to? What do you say? I swear, I'd have been better off watching paint dry or the grass grow. At least then I'd be doing something worthwhile and constructive.

Even getting a single word down was a chore. How on earth was I meant to write three fucking pages? I gripped the pen with such force my knuckles turned white. My top and bottom teeth noisily scraped against each other.

'If anyone deserves an apology, it's me,' I inwardly griped. 'I'm the one who was wronged here, not her. She got off lucky, she really fucking did.'

And she'd gotten to watch my punishment, to watch my humiliation and hear my pleas, my screams for mercy as Mahmood had lay into me with that belt. She, who had held the balance of power in her hands. She could have stopped it, could have stepped in.

If the stupid bitch had just told Mahmood it was okay, that she didn't want me to be whipped, maybe things would have turned out differently. But she hadn't, and I'd wound up with bruises that still hadn't faded, and the inability to sleep on my back for over five days.

So, I ask you how the hell I was supposed to conjure up the words to apologise to the girl? Yes, yes, I probably should have considered this sooner, rather than waiting until the last minute. Procrastination never did anyone any good. But I ask you, was there not more fulfilling things I could have occupied my time with than the writing of this stupid letter?

For a moment, I considered calling Assef up here to ask his advice, but decided against it. My brother may have been able to help me in other matters but apologising was not one of them. The only person he'd ever shown genuine remorse towards was me, and in spite of how devastating the thought of hurting one another was, we couldn't feel that guilt towards anyone else.

No, I knew I would have to just suck it up and do what I did best: bullshit my way through.

With a hearty sigh, I placed pen to paper and began to write.

X x x

"They're here, kiddo," Assef said, poking his head 'round the door.

I moaned, groggily untangling my chin from my palm and sitting up straighter. The finished letter sat in a pristine white envelope, Adia's name written on it in my best cursive. I wiped sleep from my eyes, wanting nothing more than curl up in bed and hibernate for the foreseeable future.

"Already?" I looked at him, confused. "But it's still early.."

"It's four o'clock, kiddo."

"What?!" I felt my jaw drop as I stared incredulously at him. "How... it was only one last time I checked. How the heck did time go so fast?"

I stared down at the envelope. 'Did I seriously spend over three hours writing this?' I wondered, unable to believe it. 'The little bitch better damn well be grateful.'

Assef stroked my hair. "I must say, Saria, I'm impressed. You've shown more fortitude and strength than I ever would have in your position. I'd have refused outright to write that letter.''

''Yeah, but I'd have gotten the belt again for that, wouldn't I?''

''Probably. Though if he ever gives you as many as he did last week, I will throttle the bastard. I swear to fucking god."

We were interrupted, unfortunately, by the whining shout of my mother. "Assef! Saria! The Quadiri's are waiting downstairs.. please get down here right now."

"Coming, Mother," said Assef, taking my hand and beginning to lead me down the stairs. I became almost resistant as I dragged my heels, not wanting to greet my so-called "guests". My mood was becoming fouler with each passing step. I could barely move without wanting to scream out in frustration.

Finally, we reached the living room. Assef kept my hand tightly wrapped in his, fingers squeezing with just the tiniest amount of pressure, a silent warning to keep calm. I clutched the letter in one hand, and clung to Assef with the other, feeling more and more like a scared, vulnerable child.

I looked around the room at the people sitting on the couch before me. All the usual suspects were there, but this time there was a new face I hadn't yet seen. It was a boy of about thirteen, dressed in a green cashmere sweater and light beige trousers.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale, as if he were sick or something. By process of elimination I deducted that this was Masood, Adia's brother who had been missing the first time I met the bitch.

Joy. Another person to have to impress. Could this day get any worse?

It seemed every eye in the room was on me. Even my own mother and father were glaring at me like I'd just murdered someone. I didn't think I'd be able to do this. I just wanted to turn tail and run back up those stairs as fast as my legs could carry me.

But, as everyone who has gone through hardship will tell you, sometimes you just have to hold your head high and get on with it.

I stepped forward, letter in hand, and extended it out to Adia. ''This is for you,'' I said, ''you and your family. I really am sorry for how I acted last week, and I hope this somehow makes up for it. I regret it immensely.''

Bullshit, bullshit, and more bullshit. Each word dripping like honey from my mouth was no more than a lie, though I would allow them the false pretence of thinking I meant it. Adia took the letter from me, then to my utter disdain gave me a bone-crunching hug.

She was squeezing me so tight I felt my ribs would undoubtedly crack. I just stood there, frozen like a statue - a bored one at that.

''Thank you, Saria,'' she said. ''Thank you for writing this, and thank you for saying sorry and thank you for wanting to be my friend.''

She pulled back, grinning ear to ear. Her parents nodded at me, and I could tell by the relaxed atmosphere that I had indeed been forgiven. Good. Those who like me are much more suceptible to my charms, after all. It's just a fact of life.

The sick-looking boy stood, then, and reached out a hand to me. ''Well.. now that that's over with,'' he said, his voice strained as though each word were a struggle, ''I should probably introduce myself. I'm Masood, Adia's older brother. Nice to meet you, sweetheart.''

I wanted to laugh, not only at his ironic choice of wording and nickname, but also at how sick he looked and sounded. I didn't know it at the time, but Masood was rather ill. The extent of which I would discover later.

But, anyway, back to the here and now.

Mahmood, being the annoying shit that he is, crossed to my side and clapped me once on the shoulder. ''Eloquent as always, my dear.'' His eyes were shining with pride, and I knew I'd wormed my way back into ''daddy's'' good books again.

I beamed up at him, listening intently as he continued to talk. ''Now, since dinner won't be ready for another half-hour, why don't you take Adia up to your room for a bit?''

''Yes, Papa.'' I nodded, and, much like she had done with me, took Adia's hand and practically dragged her up the stairs.

It was time for my fun to begin.

X x x

We sat on the edge of my bed, neither of us saying a word, the awkwardness almost palpable. I had my knees drawn up to my chest and was staring at the ground with my best hangdog expression, hoping the smiley, bubbly little shit sat next to me would get the picture and ask what was wrong. Which, after a few agonisingly slow minutes, she did.

''Saria?''

''Hm?'' I didn't look at her.

''Are you...'' She hesitated for a moment, as though trying to conjure up the right words. Again, I refused to meet her gaze. ''Are you alright, Saria?''

She sounded so concerned, so empathic, so genuinely worried for my sake. It was in that moment that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I could expertly manipulate this little girl. I knew that, like a marionette, her strings would bend and bow to my will. I knew she was in my power now. And I liked it. I liked it more than words could possibly say.

Adia reached over and took my hand. ''Please talk to me, Saria. Please? Friends don't keep secrets. And.. we are friends, aren't we?''

''I don't know, Adia,'' I said, making my voice crack. Time for the crocodile tears. ''I don't know if you really are my friend, or if you care about me at all. I mean, you let me get beaten at your house, and you didn't even step in. I was in so much pain because of you, I could barely even walk for days. I still have bruises all over my back and legs and it hurts, Adia.

It hurts so, so much. And not once did you bother to check up on me or ask if I was okay or even say sorry for not helping me. You just kept making me feel like the bad guy and I'm not, Adia. I'm not. So no, I don't know if we're friends. It doesn't look like it to me.''

By the end of my little rant, we were both crying. Only difference being, of course, that her tears were real whereas mine were as fake as the god my father professes to believe in. I'd taken a few liberties with my tale, of course - my beating hadn't left me unable to walk, although doing so had been painful.

''I'm sorry,'' Adia sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ''I shoulda stepped in and I know I'm an awful, horrible, dreadful friend for letting you get hurt, Saria. I feel terrible. I really do want to be your friend, I wanna make it up to you. Please.''

In a twisted, manipulative show of compassion, I reached out and put my arms around the girl. I let her cry on my shoulder, her legs curled up underneath her, stroking her hair and rubbing soft circles into her back. All while marvelling at the extent of her empathy towards me.

It was amazing how much my pain, my misery, my suffering could impact on her. Even though I couldn't feel the emotion myself, empathy fascinated me.

''We can be friends,'' I said after a while, ''if you make me a promise.''

''Anything, Saria, anything.''

''You have to promise you'll be on my side from now on. That you'll do as I say, and you won't ever abandon me or hurt me. Friendship only works with loyalty, dear. You have to promise to stay friends no matter what. And in exchange, I'll be there for you, too. I'll be the friend you always wanted, and I'll protect you from anyone who may want to hurt you.''

I felt her nod against my shoulder, but it was not enough. I needed verbal agreement. With one hand still clutching Adia's, I used the other to prop her up and hold her chin steady so she would have to look into my eyes.

''So what do you say? Is that a yes?''

''Yes, Saria.''

I hugged her again, and we sat like that until Tanya called us for dinner, me holding my new prize close and she naively clinging to who she thought was going to be her new best friend. But, as it so often was with me, this new friendship was nothing more than a sham: a twisted game of give and take.

She gave me loyalty and I took control.

She gave me obedience and I took her freedom.

She gave me her friendship and I took everything she had.


	4. Fight to Win

There are some days that I remember much more vividly than others. November 20th, 1974, is one of those days. Looking back, I suppose you could call it the day I learned how violent even the simplest of transgressions could make me.

My parents were away for the weekend. This was nothing new, of course. With my father's recent promotion, they would always be taking little cross-country road trips, staying in fancy hotels and dining like royalty. They never took me or Assef, though. Of course, there was some excuse given, but like all the other times, it was just bullshit. They just didn't want us wasting their time.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, head buried in the old Farsi poetry book Mahmood had bought me for my ninth birthday. My eyes would scan the page, reading the words carefully, trying to keep my thoughts focused. So many shards of tattered ideas were running through my mind, each as distracting as the last.

I found myself drawn back to one thing in particular, though. Adia. My new 'friend', my prized possession. She would become as loyal and obedient to me as a dog, I was determined to make sure of that. Her every move, her every word, it would all be under my control. The girl would become a controlled pet, a new challenge for me.

Assef poked his head around the door. "There you are, kiddo. I was wondering where you'd gone off to."

He crossed to the bed and took his place beside me. Looking over my shoulder, he glanced at the book I was reading. "I didn't think you cared much for poetry, kiddo,'' he mused, tracing his finger along the pages.

''I don't.'' I shrugged, tossing the book aside and rolling over so my head was in Assef's lap. His fingers gently glided over my scalp as he lovingly danced them through my hair. ''They're shit, for the most part. But they do keep my mind from wandering.''

Assef chuckled. "Well, I know another way to keep your mind occupied, little sister."

With this, he held up a wad of cash I knew he must have "borrowed" from our parents. His eyes sparked with mischievous delight as, laughing, he waved the money in front of my face. I reached out to grab it and he sidestepped me, teasing. "Ah, ah," he mockingly joked, tapping me on the nose. "The nerve of you, kiddo. Trying to steal from your own brother. I'm crushed."

I laughed as he placed a hand over his chest, feigning outrage and hurt. He was so expertly good at it, in fact, that had you not known he was faking, you would have thought he was genuinely upset. Assef and I were masters at twisting emotions to suit our endeavours - even our own. We were the only ones who knew what the other was truly feeling, who could see past the facade and into the mind and soul within.

"So, what d'you say, Saria? Fancy spending some quality time together. I've got enough here to treat you to lunch, and maybe even buy you something after. And you know Mahmood and Tanya won't even notice this is missing. Fuckers are pissing change out their assholes, after all."

I nodded, grinning madly at him. "Just let me go get my coat, Assef, and we can go."

"Alright. I'll wait for you downsta-" Before he could even finish that sentence, I'd flung my arms tightly around him and buried my face in his shirt, breathing in his safe, familiar, musky scent. He seemed taken off guard, if the way he staggered backwards was anything to go by.

"Thank you," I said. "You're the best brother in the world, you know that?"

"So I've been told." He ruffled my hair, kissed my forehead, and untangled himself from my embrace. "Go get ready. I'll wait by the gate, okay?" With that, he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Already dressed in lavender pinafore, with hair adorned in ribbons, I rushed to my wardrobe, threw it open and grabbed my navy overcoat.

The thought of spending one-on-one time with my dearest, most beloved Assef was filling me with a rare joy I seldom felt. So often we would be sidelined by the demands of parents, school work and even the worthless dogs we called 'friends.'

But not today. No, today would be our day. Ours alone.

X x x

We were almost halfway to the local market when an annoyingly familiar voice cried out; "Assef! Assef, wait up!"

I groaned. Oh God, no. Not him. For the love of all that is good on this godforsaken earth, why? Why? Why? For there, standing with a stupidly large grin on his face, arms spread in welcome, was Wali.

Wali was one of Assef's 'friends', and I use that term as loosely as possible. He was six months younger than my brother and like Kamal was as loyal as a lapdog. Unlike Kamal, however, he was also one of the most annoyingly eager to please people one could ever have the misfortune to come across.

Don't get me wrong, it's nice to have someone _willing _to be at your beck-and-call sometimes. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy that - perhaps more than the average person, in fact. But as with all things, there's a line. And Wali definitely crossed it.

My brother looked as if he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. "Just.. ignore him," he suggested, though we both knew that would be an impossible feat. "Pretend he's not there, hopefully he'll go away if we don't acknowledge him."

Easier said than fucking done.

Wali bounded up to us, grinning from ear to ear. "Good afternoon, agha." He referred to my brother as 'sir', just as Assef had ordered him and Kamal to do when not in earshot of prying adults. "Miss Saria." He inclined his head towards me, but I ignored the gesture. The mutt had ruined my good mood significantly and I was determined to make boldly certain he knew of this.

"Wali," Assef said the name as though it were a dreadful swear word.

"What are you two doing?" Wali asked.

My brother, ever the sarcastic one, bit back a laugh. "Well, Wali, we're currently standing our fucking heads and while we're here, we're going to sing the alphabet backwards. What the fuck do you _think _we're doing, you dumb little shit?"

Wali bit his lip, shifting from one foot to the other. He looked like a kicked puppy, it was priceless. "Sorry.. Stupid question. Uh.. um.."

I stamped my foot, already in the throes of a tantrum. ''What. Do. You. _Want?''_

''I.. I.. just wanted to say hello, M-Miss Saria. I mean.."

_Really? That's all you fucking wanted? You got all fucking flustered and bothered, wasted our time and acted like a right nuisance for THAT?! _I inwardly raged, every cell in my body crying out to hit the boy. To beat him into submission, to hear him cry out and beg me to stop.

Stupid dog. How dare he waste our time over something as trivial as this? He'd made the journey to the market longer now, and if he thought he was going to tag along, the fucking shit had another thing coming.

Assef, probably sensing I was about to lose it, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "Let's go, kiddo. The filthy shit doesn't deserve to be talking to us."

He spoke the words in German - our mother's native language - as we usually did when we didn't want the other party to hear our conversations. Wali raised an eyebrow, mouthing 'What?' in my brother's direction, but Assef ignored him.

Taking my hand, he practically dragged me down the street, as we left our disgraced slave standing forlorn and unwanted, with his head bowed. Just as it should be.

X x x

The midday sun, which still provided some heat despite it being mid-Winter, beat down on us as we sat at our favourite cafe. Assef leaned back in his seat, long legs stretched out in front of him, his arm draped over my shoulder.

"Enjoying your lunch?"

I pushed the half-empty plate of Aushak - an Afghan ravioli dish - out towards him. "What do y_ou _think?"

His eyes narrowed and then, before I could blink, he'd grabbed me around the waist and pulled me over to him, tickling my sides. I spat out the water I'd just taken a sip from, and writhed, shrieking and giggling in laughter. My ribs are my most ticklish spot and Assef loved teasing me about it. It was all just in good sibling fun.

"Stop, stop, stop!"

"Ready to stop being a little smart-ass?" Assef tapped me on the nose.

"Ah, but I wouldn't be _me _if I wasn't a 'little smart-ass."

"True." He held me closer in his arms, and dug around in his pocket. "Here, go buy yourself something nice."

He pressed a wad of cash into my open palm, curling my tiny fingers upwards. I grinned, kissed his cheek, and jumped down from his lap. Assef leaned his head back. There was no need for him to go with me; he, unlike my parents, trusted me and treated me like an eleven-year-old rather than a toddler. I skipped past cooing mothers, and smiling fathers, all gullible fools who would never believe the darkness hiding behind the ribbons and curls.

It didn't take long for me to spot something. A large, blue and white striped kite, with glass string. Kite fighting was an extremely popular sport here in Kabul, and the winter tournament was always a fun event - though I never participated. Still, it'd be fun for Assef and I to have our own little competitions, our own games.

Thank fuck the man selling it was Pashtun. I wouldn't have touched it had it been a Hazara. Though I did wonder why he was doing a Hazara's lowly job. It seemed slightly out of place, in my mind. Oh well, not that it mattered. I handed over the money, and he praised me for being such a polite, ladylike young girl, his smile enhancing the wrinkles around his eyes.

I nodded politely, mentally envisioned him burning alive, and thanked him in my sweetest voice. Butter wouldn't melt in perfect Saria's perfect mouth.

I proudly waved my new purchase at Assef, then walked the few minutes to the low wall at the bottom of the barracks. It was secluded enough from civilisation, yet I knew Assef would be able to find me should he need to. I hopped up on the wall and began unravelling the kite string.

My legs dangled in mid-air, kicking back and forth. To all the world I would have appeared the ideal child. So charming, so poised. Not screaming or making a mess like so many other kids do. Seen and not heard. I had this act improvised to perfection.

"Well, well.. look what the cat dragged in."

Of all the people I've met in my life, none were more annoying than Farsef Sajihdi. A scrawny, perpetually whiny boy with a scar just above his collar bone, Farsef seemed to get a great kick out of acting tougher than he was. Assef knew his older brother from school, and apparently the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

"Go fuck yourself." I'd heard my brother use that statement, and while at the time I didn't exactly know what it meant, I knew it was quite offensive. Ignoring Farsef's shocked expression, I turned, stuck my nose in the air and continued unravelling the kite string. I was about halfway through, when all of a sudden, I felt myself toppling violently backwards, and landed with a thump on my back, legs splayed up in the air.

For a moment, I could feel nothing but the stinging pain in my upper back and head. Pressing a finger to my temple, I growled at the sight of my own blood. _The little shit bust my head open! _I thought, getting to my feet and wiping my mouth like a cage-fighter ready to go into battle.

My lips flecked, with hands balled up into fists. I was animal, the lion ready to strike the zebra, the merciless beast. My fury was unparalleled. Never before had I known rage this strong.

Farsef leaned cockily against the wall, arms folded. His face was painted with a smirk, his eyes surveying the cut on my head with something akin to a twisted fascination. Truthfully, he looked like a toddler who'd only just seen blood and was utterly amazed by it. I wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face, and perhaps even rip his eyes out with it.

Then, the voice I had been longing to hear.

"_What the fuck did you do to my sister?!"_

Assef was storming towards us, fists clenched. The sheer tenacity in his voice was enough to make Farsef jump almost a foot in the air, inch backwards, and press his body against the wall as though hoping that by doing so he could make himself invisible. My brother took one long look at the blood trickling down my forehead and I could see the concern in his eyes.

"I'm okay," I mouthed, and as soon as I did, that concern changed. It was now fury, unbridled, brutal rage. An anger that burned like an untameable fire and would destroy everything in its path. Without even speaking another word to me, he turned and grabbed Farsef by the hair, slamming his head into the wall.

Over and over, he brought his fist down on the terrified boy's face, stomach and arms, leaving no stone unturned. It was the most amazing, thrilling thing I had ever borne witness to. How lucky I was to have someone so willing and eager to defend my honour.

"P-Please.." Farsef dropped to his knees, palms outstretched. "Please.. no.. no more.. stop.. please.."

_Pathetic.. Begging for mercy already. Where's his fight gone? He asks for a challenge, then chickens out? Fuck that!_

Snarling, I pushed the boy backwards and kicked him twice in the stomach, putting every bit of force behind it. His answering cry of pain was music to my ears. I began kicking him over and over, laughter mingling with his cries, heart beating faster. Never had I felt so alive.

And then, it happened.

Assef grabbed Farsef by the head, leaned down, and sunk his teeth into the boy's face. Like a wild animal, he pulled his head back forcefully and spat something to the side. Blood ran like a river down Farsef's face - the boy was howling and clutching his head. I had never seen so much blood from a person before. It was absolutely.. amazing.

My brother kicked something towards Farsef, a manic grin on his features. _Holy shit! _I thought, staring at it with wide eyes. _He bit his fucking ear off!_

It was absolutely sickening - the most disgusting thing I'd ever witnessed - and had I truly been the gentle, benevolent little girl I made myself out to be, I would undoubtedly have fainted on the spot.

"Wow..."

"Impressed?" Assef smiled. "Anything for sister."

Then he bent down, grabbing Farsef's chin in his hand. "Not a word, boy. Not a single word. Tell a soul about this and you're dead, you get me? Stone. Cold. Fucking. Dead."

We left him in the ditch, with not a second thought. No guilt, no remorse. No concern whatsoever. He was my first real victim and I felt more proud of myself for that than words can possibly say.

You may call me a monster. I call it a lesson learned.


	5. Sweet Control

Adia and I sat crossed-legged and barefoot on her bed, a jigsaw puzzle laid out before us. It was about two days after the incident with Farsef (my estimation isn't too accurate on this - I am writing it years after the fact, after all) and my parents had forced this 'playdate' on me. Another attempt to get their socially inept daughter out of the house.

I watched Adia stick her tongue out in concentration as she tried to fit two puzzle pieces together. ''It won't go in." She sounded so put out by this fact, like it was the worst possible thing that could happen. The girl was pathetic.

"You're holding it the wrong way," I said, reaching out to take the piece from her. "See? It's meant to go in like this." Smiling, I fixed up the pieces so they fit like a glove.

Adia beamed. "Thanks, Saria. It's really pretty, don't you think?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."

I looked at the jigsaw. It was that of Kabul's national forest, and all the flora and fauna that one could find in there. I guess, on some small level, I did find a rare beauty in it. Purity. An innocence not unlike that of the happy, bubbly little girl sitting across from me. Something that a lot of people would try to preserve, to save.

Adia moved it off the bed - carefully placing it on her desk so it wouldn't break - and sat beside me. She leaned her head against her palm and looked over at me. She seemed so totally, utterly delighted to have me as a friend, so happy that, finally, she would have an older girl to look up to.

It was almost fascinating, in a way, to see myself from someone else' eyes. It was like the Saria Adia thought she knew was an completely different entity, a tightrope walker across a thread of lies - teetering dangerously over the edge.

And the truth was the only thing left to fall into.

X x x

Lunchtime, I found myself unfortunately cornered by Masood. Surprisingly enough, he looked even worse than he had the last time I saw him. He had huge bags under his eyes, like he'd gotten on the wrong side of a heavyweight boxer. His posture was slumped and each word he spoke was punctuated with a hacking cough. It was almost comical, in a disgusting sort of way.

"You're in Adia's class, aren't you?" He leaned against the wall, arms folded. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

"Yeah," I said. "I am."

Masood looked me up and down, lips pursed, as if he were scrutinising my words for some deeper meaning. To someone lesser skilled at manipulation than I, this might have been the excuse to crack under the pressure, but I kept cool.

Finally, he spoke again; "I... I know we haven't known each other very long but, uh, thanks.. for being her friend. She.. I really appreciate you looking out for her."

I could barely hide my smirk. He wasn't wrong, per se. I was looking out for Adia, though not in the way her gullible, foolish brother would expect. I was molding her, changing her. I was taking the fragile pieces of that naive girl and building them back up into something stronger. Something unbreakable. Under my control, she would flourish. She would blossom. She would have the power she had denied even to herself.

I nodded. "You don't need to thank me, Masood. I'm grateful to have her as a friend just as much as she is to have me."

He looked like he was about to hug me, then, so I ducked under his arm and headed for the stairs again. I'm not a hugger, you see, and I'm definetly not a hugger of sick people. I'd rather do without their disgusting, contagious germs spreading all over me. Why should I need to suffer too, just because he wanted to show some stupid, false display of affection?

The hurt look on his face when I walked away was worth its entire weight in gold.

Almost worth as much as the huge, beaming smile I got when I walked back into Adia's room to find her waiting for me with a plate of her mother's freshly baked cookies, and two glasses of milk.

Her eyes lit up, as if seeing me was the greatest gift anyone in the world could have ever given her. I knew she loved me, knew she would follow me to the ends of the earth if only I asked.

She was so stupid, so easy to control. The perfect experiment for me to test my skills on.

I sat beside her and bit into a cookie. The delicious taste of mouth-watering chocolate chip enveloped my senses within a matter of seconds. "Wow." I daintily wiped the edge of my mouth with the corner of my sleeve. "These are.. amazing."

Adia giggled. "Mommy's a good baker. Does your mommy bake, Saria?"

"She used to," I said. "When I was little."

"I like baking!" Adia chirped. I had to refrain from throwing my eyes to heaven at how enthusiastic she was. "I wanna be a baker when I grow up, and run my own cafe with loads of cookies and hot chocolate and cupcakes and I hope I can make people happy. I really, really want my baking to make people happy."

She bounced in her seat as she spoke, hands gesturing wildly, eyes bright and expressive. Making people happy was obviously a dream of hers, though I couldn't understand why.

Their happiness wouldn't give her security, wouldn't keep a roof over her head at night. Making people smile meant nothing - it wouldn't give you money, or fame, or even recognition. All it was, really, was a waste of time and energy, a deluded dream I intended to stamp out of her.

After all, what's the point of working so hard to ensure other's happiness when the thing you lost was your own?

X x x

Adia's garden was one of the most well-kept I'd ever seen - second only to my own. Freshly cut grass that tickled under our feet as we walked, the flowers made everything come alive in a whirlwind of colours and beauty. I likened it to the jigsaw we'd done earlier that morning. Obviously the Quadiri's were huge nature freaks.

We crossed to the swings and sat down. I wrapped my tiny hands around the ropes, kicking my legs back and forth. The undercoat of my cream dress itched the backs of my thighs, which was annoying as all hell. Adia scuffed her feet along the ground, the soles filthy, her tan legs knocking together, over and over.

Then, she spoke. "Saria?"

"Yes?"

She leaned forward, beckoning me with her finger, as though she was about to indulge some huge secret only I was allowed know. The next words to come from her mouth would make or break our entire relationship - all depending on how I responded.

"Is it true your brother bit Farsef Sajihdi's ear off?"

I froze. I had been expecting this, somewhat. Farsef's beating was news among the children, after all. Everyone knew about it, though they were too afraid to tell their parents. Assef had even earned himself a new nickname: Assef Gokshor, or "Assef the Ear Eater". Of course, none of them would dare call him that, unless they wanted to share Farsef's miserable fate.

But to be faced now, with Adia, a girl who I so desperately wanted to mold into my own image - I had no clue how to respond. What did I say? I couldn't deny it but at the same time I knew I would have to be careful with what I said. I wanted to change the girl, but slowly. Carefully. She was like clay; if I was too rough with her, she would break.

After a few minutes of tense silence, I did something that was incredibly rare for me.

I told the truth.

"Yes. Yes, he did."

Her eyes became two saucers and she shrank away from me, as though terrified the same fate might befall her. "But.. but.. why?!"

I shrugged and leaned back. "Because he teased me. Because he wouldn't just leave me alone. Because he pushed me off the wall and split my damn head open. Because he needed to be taught a lesson and this was the only way to teach him.

Because, Adia, he deserved it."

She shook her head, sighing. The look in her eyes was so patronising it made me want to break her fucking jaw.

"No, he didn't. Saria.." She reached out to take my hand but I pulled away. "You can't just hurt people because they're mean to you. That makes you no better than the bullies. I.. Don't you ever think about how Farsef felt, about how much pain he must be in? He lost an ear, Saria, he's gonna be bullied and teased now and.."

We locked eyes. She had tears in hers, and mine were dry. "I don't understand how you think what your brother did is a good thing, Saria. He.. He's a monster."

The words hit me like a freight train, a crushing blow to the heart. There was a deathly silence between us, the kind that happens when a bomb has been deactivated, but you're still unsure whether or not it will go off. So you sit there, watching, waiting. Not knowing if your life will end in those next few moments, or if you will be spared.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was she serious? Had I heard correctly? Did she really just say that?

She called Assef a monster.

Assef. My brother. The person who I loved more than any single person in the world. The person I would die for. The person who lit up my life, and who knew me better than anyone.

_She called him a monster._

In that moment, I no longer cared about keeping control. I no longer cared about protecting the girl, or appearing perfect. She had well and truly bulldozed over the fucking line.

"Don't ever say that again!" I snarled, grabbing her arm. I dug my nails in hard, leaning in so we were nose to nose. "Don't you ever, ever say such a thing. You don't know my brother, you don't know me. How dare you judge us?! You don't know a goddamn fucking thing!"

"I... I.." Adia whimpered, trying to pull away from me. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. "I... Why are y-you b-being mean to me, S-S-Sar-"

I cut her off before she could finish. "You're driving me to it, Adia. I don't want to be mean. You're my friend. But.. calling my brother a monster isn't a very nice, now, is it?"

I looked towards the window to ensure nobody was watching, then twisted the soft upper flesh on Adia's arm, making her cry out in pain. I knew it would probably bruise later, but that didn't matter. "I don't like hurting you, Adia, but you really upset me. You.. If you think Assef's a monster, then maybe you think I am, too."

She shook her head, soft whimpers emanating from her lips, trying to pull away from my iron grip. ''I.. I d-don't t-think you're a m-monster, Saria.. I don't. Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I looked at her for what must have felt like the longest minute of her life. She did seem truly remorseful; no point in dragging the punishment on unnecessarily. I released her arm, and pulled her close.

"Good." I stroked her hair, not because I felt any level of sympathy, but because doing so would twist and warp her mind even more. "All forgiven now, and I know you aren't going to do that again, right?"

"N-No.."

I smiled. She was so easy to control. All I had to do was say a few sweet words, offer a comforting hug, and instantly all the pain I'd just caused was forgiven and forgotten. She was learning well; everything I did to her was due to her own actions, not my own. _Such a good girl, so loyal, so obedient,_ I thought, looking over at her.

Adia leaned her head on my shoulder, crying slightly. How funny it was that the one who had hurt her only moments before was now the one she went to for comfort. She was so trusting, so eager to please.

I was the one with the power. I was the one who owned her, the one who's approval was more important than that of her parents, brother or anyone else.

And she adored me, loved me, cherished these moments we spent together. I was her only friend, and that title alone gave me immense power. I could do what I pleased with her, could stab her in the chest and tear out her beating heart and she would still love me, would still value my friendship above all else.

It remains that way, even today.

Even though I hurt her, she stays by my side.


	6. Tasting Tension

There are some sounds I simply cannot abide.

My father's voice is one of them.

He was droning on and on about some important business dinner he and Tanya would be attending. Something about a promotion and wanting to suck his boss's cock - or impress him as he put it. I was struggling to pay attention - and judging by the bored look on Assef's face, he was having the same problem.

_This is boring. What the fuck are you telling me this for? Do you think I care? Shut up, you stupid little man. Assef and I want to go out - stop interrupting OUR time together._

These were all the things I so longed to be able to say to my father - coupling each sentence with a hearty blow from a flesh slicing blade. Alas, I could do neither and would thus have to settle for imagining the joy I could get from killing him. Mahmood, possibly sensing the lack of a fuck we gave, mercifully drew his speech to a close.

"We'll be back later tonight. Assef, you're in charge. Take care of your sister and stay out of trouble, both of you."

He said it almost like a joke, but the irony of that command made me smirk. Stay out of trouble? Well, technically, we would - I bet Mahmood's idea of his precious angel getting in trouble would be me raiding the biscuit tin, not the violent sort of trouble I could and had gotten into without his knowing. Foolish man. If only he knew.

"We will, Father. Come on, Saria."

Assef took my hand, practically dragging me out the door. I struggled along behind him, my short legs failing miserably in their attempts to keep up. "S-Slow down!" I griped. "Slow the flying fuck down, Assef, what's the rush?!"

But I went ignored.

We continued to walk - or rather run (in Assef's case) and stumble like an idiot (in my case)- down the road, until Assef eventually stopped by the barracks. I pulled away from him and flopped onto an overturned crate, rubbing my ankles, which I'm sure had almost been twisted. I glared at my brother, eyes narrowing.

"The hell were you running like that for?"

Assef's eyes were almost glazed over. He dropped unceremoniously onto the crate beside me, one hand cradling his chin, the other thrown out to the side in a slightly nonchalant gesture. It was as if every bit of energy had been drained from him.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to drag you like that, kiddo. I just.. I can't be around Mahmood, you know? I hate him so fucking much."

He inched over, and without a word, put his arm around me. I leaned my head against his shoulder and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

"So fucking much," he breathed again, but something in his voice made me wonder if his hatred for our father ran deeper than even I knew.

X x x

"Kiddo." Assef was shaking me now. "Kiddo, wake up."

_Wake up? Why is he telling me to wake up? It's the middle of the day, isn't it? What the fuck?_

"Wha-?" I opened my eyes, groggily wiping them as the barracks, and Assef's face, swam back into focus. Oh great. I must have fallen asleep. Like a fucking toddler. I mentally kicked myself for it, then looked at my brother with apologetic eyes.

"You fell asleep." Assef kissed my forehead, smiling. "Hard not to with this heat. I was going to just leave you alone, but I spotted Faggot and Donkey, so I knew you wouldn't want to miss this."

The nicknames were drawing a blank with me. Assef tended to give derogatory titles to his enemies - more for shits and giggles than anything else - but he'd accumulated so many of them now it was hard to keep up with who was who. Wali? Kamal? Farsef? I listed off names in my head of who he could possibly be referring to.

Finally, when my memory had failed completely, I gave up. This was one guessing game I was about to lose. "Who?" I asked. "Assef, you're not being very specific here, I need more to go on than that."

Assef laughed, ruffled my hair. He had that mockingly exasperated, "do I have to explain this again?" look on his face. "Amir and Hassan, kiddo. Remember? Yusef Kalahari's son and his Hazara pet."

Amir Kalahari was, as my brother so "lovingly" put it, too gay to be normal. He was the type of boy who spent more time sitting on the sidelines and reading poetry than getting involved in sport - the way normal boys were supposed to. None of that was as bad, however, as the way he treated his servant.

My brother had told me once that Amir and Hassan behaved more like close friends, rather than master and servant. Amir would let the flat-nosed donkey play with him, indulged him with food and water, even spent money on cinema tickets for him. It was sickening. Just thinking about it made me want to throw up.

"They're here?" I couldn't help my curious tones. Any chance to harass someone - and especially a Hazara-lover like Amir - was fine by me.

"Coming this way right now, kiddo. Why don't we go say hello, hm?"

"You read my mind, brother."

He grinned at me. It was the look of the lion taking its cub on the first hunt, the cobra waiting to strike. The devil luring you into the darkest pits of hell.

It was a look I loved.

X x x

The first thing I noticed about Amir was the terror in his eyes.

The brown pupils widened like saucers, his thin lips quivering as he saw us approach. Hesitantly, he took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. It made him look oddly attractive to me, a boy I could easily see myself controlling and moulding into the perfect man. Of course, it helped that he was mildly pleasing to the eye, too. Short, dark hair, sallow skin, brown eyes that were a clear window to his poetic soul - the boy was a catch, in my view.

It was then, at the tender age of just eleven, I developed my first crush.

Amir Kalahari.

"Hello, kunis!" my brother exclaimed, throwing his arms aloft. Hearing the derogatory term 'fags' made me snigger. Somewhat immature, yes, but I couldn't help myself. Assef raised an eyebrow and smirked.

I.. I.." Amir looked as though someone had magically frozen him in place. He was looking back and forth from Assef's face to mine, as if scrutinising our expressions. I noticed his eyes lingering on my face and I wondered, then, if my resemblance to my brother was unnerving him somewhat. Our similar facial features, the way our blue eyes glinted with a hidden, lurking madness.

"Cat got your tongue, fags?" Assef laughed. The sound caused Amir to squeak in fear, again, and take another step backwards. It was... riveting, really, to see how much of an effect our mere presence could have on him. It made me like the boy even more. I could tell he'd be easy to control, the type of person who wouldn't give me any sort of trouble.

And I needed that. I needed power. I needed to be in control. Needed it as much as I needed air.

"W-What.." Amir's voice came out as little more than a whisper.. "W-What are you d-doing h-here, A-A-Assef...?"

"Oh well, y'know.. We were taking a little walk, saw you two and thought we'd say hello. You don't.. have a problem with that, do you?"

"N-No.. No, s-sir, I d-don't."

_Sir? Someone's been taught well. Respect those worthier than you. I like that._

"Good boy." Assef's gaze left Amir's and travelled to where Hassan was standing, a protective look on his face, as though daring my brother to do anything that would harm Amir. What a loyal little dog. My brother's nose wrinkled in disgust, like he'd smelled dog shit.

I decided, then, I'd have to speak up about this. Hazara loving was a trait I could not, would not tolerate. Best to stamp it out now before it got any worse.

"What's he doing here?" I pointed to Hassan, glaring at the flat-nosed boy. "Servants aren't meant to play with their masters, Amir. You should make friends with your own race."

Amir looked at his feet, as though ashamed. "I don't.. have a lot of friends." He said it so quietly that, had I not been straining my hearing to listen, I wouldn't have heard him. The poor misfortunate could barely meet my gaze, so humiliated was he at having only a worthless Hazara for a friend.

I knew, then, that violence and threats would not be the way to go about getting what I wanted. No, it would be best if, like I had with Adia, I simply charmed and manipulated the boy into doing my bidding.

_Okay, Saria,_ I thought. _Time to put on the charm again. Be as sweet as sugar to that poor, lonely boy. He needs guidance right now and who better than you to show him the way? Time to play the game, Saria. And time to win._

"That.. that's too bad.." I left my brother's side and stepped forward, reaching out to put a gentle, understanding hand on the boy's shoulder. "I couldn't imagine not having anyone to play with, it must be awful."

Yes, yes, I know if we're being technical about it, Hassan does count as having someone - but I don't view him as human or worthy to play with anyway, so that's a moot point.

Amir, being about ten fucking inches taller than me, looked down into my eyes. He pursed his lips and stared at me, as though scrutinising every inch of my face, every pore, every freckle. I stared back at him, keeping my expression sympathetic, not daring to give any hint of my true intentions.

"I'm not..." Amir trailed off, averting my gaze now as he spoke. "I mean.. I don't.. I was just.. going to the market.. And Hassan.. he asked to tag along with me. I would have gone alone other than that."

I raised an eyebrow. What terrible, terrible lying. I could see right through him, like he'd gone transparent. "You don't have to pretend," I said. "I won't judge you for not having a lot of friends.. Besides, you don't have to worry about that anymore.. You have a new friend now."

I flashed a brilliant smile, teeth gleaming. Amir looked.. confused, shocked and somewhat unnerved all at the same time. Certainly not as happy about my announcement as I'd intended him to be.

_Ungrateful little snot. I offer my friendship - what God himself would beg for - and this is how he repays me?! I should wipe that look right off his fucking face, maybe even slit him open too.. No. No, I can't do that. I like him. Guess I'll have to find some other way to teach obedience - and get back in the fucking real world, Saria, he's staring._

"So.." I smiled, masking my irritation. "You won't have to worry about people thinking that that.. uh.. I mean Hassan," I corrected myself, not wanting to seem too rude, "is your friend anymore."

"But he's not my friend! He's my servant!"

Silence.

You could have heard a cricket chirping.

I was stunned by Amir's words, the harshness of his blunt revelation. Behind us, Assef snorted. "Faggot's got a mean streak.." he commented in German.

Amir himself didn't seem to know where those cruel words had come from. It was like a demon had taken over his body - the timid little boy standing before me had not the courage nor the cruelty within him to be so hurtful. Judging by the flicker of remorse that appeared briefly on his face, he didn't want to be cruel, either.

But it was Hassan's reaction I really wanted to see.

If Amir's words had stung, he was doing a fine job of not showing it. He remained quiet, pensive, as though taking it in, measuring the words for some level of truth behind them. It was almost like he didn't believe what he'd just heard. Or maybe he was just so loyal he couldn't bring himself to consider the possibility his precious master didn't like him as much as he wanted.

And how was I feeling about this, you may ask?

Proud.

Very, very proud.

X x x

"Wasn't expecting that today, were you?" I asked my brother, hours later. We'd left the boys to their "playtime" and had spent the day skipping stones by the river bank. Now, as the sun set and children went in for tea and bed, we began to make our way home.

"Didn't surprise me. Kid seems easy enough to fuck with, you know? You could make him believe anything, if you spun it expertly enough."

"Which is exactly what I intend to do."

".. What?"

I smirked. "Change him."

Assef grinned, and began talking about how, with a bit of luck, we were going to change the world. Going to eliminate all the Hazaras and restore our homeland to glory. But I wasn't really listening this time. All I could think of was Amir.

My first crush.

Another toy.

And someone I intended to make mine.


	7. Conscience Rising

For the next few days, my encounter with Amir and Hassan was all I could think of.

I played that day over and over in my head, constantly going through it scene by scene, word by word, like a record stuck on a loop. Scrutinising every inch, every detail of that memory, hoping that doing so would provide answers to the constant stream of questions that wormed their way into my brain.

Like why had Amir spoken so harshly of Hassan, not caring that the boy - who he supposedly cared for - was in perfect earshot? Was this my doing, my serpent's sweet lies that had caused him to rethink his whole social standing, to realise that, as we all knew, Hassan was not worthy of being his friend? Or perhaps he'd thought this all along and I had only served to further cement these opinions?

I didn't know the answer to that. To this day, I still don't.

Whatever the case, though, I was determined one way or another to make an impact in that boy's life. His outburst had proved that, while he mightn't hate Hazaras with the same burning passion my brother and I did, the seeds of hatred were there. With a bit of nurturing, he could harbour that same exact detestation for that filthy race as we did. I may not have planted those seeds, but I was determined to help them grow.

We were left, as usual, to a parentless house. Mahmood was at a business meeting and Tanya was visiting her sister in Pakistan.. Assef was put in charge, as always, and had rather harshly given Hamilra the task of cleaning the entire house - despite the fact she'd already done that three days ago and was inflicted with a cold.

It was a Thursday. November 27th, to be precise. It's hard for me to remember exact dates from my past, though I doubt it really matters. You aren't reading this to be given a history lesson, are you? Anyway, there are still some instances that are so significant to me, I can remember every detail of them. Right down to the date.

I guess there's some things your mind won't let you forget.

X x x

"Penny for your thoughts, sister?"

Assef and I were sitting by the pool, feet dangling over the edge. I picked pebbles out of the snow and flicked them in, watching as they hit the bottom with a dull thud. The pool was drained every winter, see, to stop it freezing over. Winters here were deadly when it came to snow and ice - so bad, in fact, that they closed the schools then instead of in summer.

One by one, pebble by pebble, they all fell into the dark. I stared down at them, legs kicking back and forth, my mind clouded, thinking of everything, but thinking of nothing all at the same time. And I stayed like that, lost in my own little world, until I felt a sharp prodding in my back.

"Kiddo? Kiddo, I'm talking to you."

"What?" I turned to face my brother, who raised an eyebrow and poked me on the nose.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked again, putting an arm around me. "You seem to have a lot, if the way you're staring off into space is anything to go by."

"Oh.. nothing.. it's nothing.." I tried to lie, but my mind betrayed me by thinking of Amir again - with his poetic brown eyes and nervous smile - and my cheeks began to heat up, caught in the moment of my first "crush."

Assef poked me in the ribs. "That's not nothing," he teased, his breath hot against my skin as he leaned down to whisper in my ear.

I sighed, thinking it best to relent before the teasing got any worse. "Okay, okay.." I threw my hands up in defeat. "I was thinking about Amir.."

"What about him?"

"Well... I.. How I could.. mould him, y'know? How he could be changed. I.. I kinda.. like him, see, so I was thinking, maybe he could be on our side? With a bit of luck, I mean.."

_Fuck. I sound like a complete moron. This is why girl's don't talk about these things with their brothers, it's embarrassing. And yet, who else do I have? He understands me better than anyone, no need to feel shame, right? Right?_

Assef pinched the bridge of his nose, running his hand down the length of his face, then brought it back up again to rub his temples. He tilted his head back, as though admiring the sky, and then exhaled deeply. He looked.. frustrated, if that's the right word. Frustrated and dismayed - as if he couldn't quite believe the words that had come from his darling sister's mouth.

"You're.. you're not being serious right now, are you?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back laughter.

"Yeah," I retorted, somewhat offended. "I am."

"Seriously, kiddo? Amir? Really? When did your standards get so goddamn low?"

"I don't see what your problem is with him, anyway. It's just a little crush, not like it's gonna lead to anything."

"You're -" Assef started, but I cut him off before he could finish. I always, always get carried away in the heat of the moment. Temper and Saria are not a good combination.

"I'm _what_, Assef? Too young? Bullshit. You know I'm better and more mature than other girls my age. And I'm not asking to fucking marry him, all I want is to help improve him. You're always saying we should get more people on our side, and now that I want to do just that you have a fucking problem with it?!"

"I don't have a problem with it and if you let me speak for two fucking seconds you might understand that. I have a problem, Saria, because - and I'm going to speak _slowly_ now so you get this - _Amir. Isn't. Good. Enough. For. You._"

Now I was getting mad. How dare he think to tell me who was good for me or not? I thought my brother was supposed to respect my decisions, not turn against me for them. He had no right to talk to me like that, no right at all.

Fist clenched, I jumped to my feet, chest rising and falling rapidly as I breathed in and out like a rabid dog waiting to strike. "And what gives you the right to dictate what is and isn't right for me? Aren't I allowed to make my own decisions anymore, is that it?"

"Calm, kiddo. If you would just let me explai-"

"Oh shut your fucking mouth, Assef, you're acting like Mahmood."

There is crossing the line.

There is bulldozing over the line.

And then there is taking an atomic bomb and destroying not only the line but everything that stood on either side of it.

Right then and there, I did the latter.

X x x

Time passed.

I left the house in tears, after trying and failing to apologise to my brother for my words. He'd waved me off with a dismissive hand and a short grunt of, "Whatever. Go play with Adia or something."

Which meant, undoubtedly, that I had seriously messed up.

God, I was such a fool, such an idiot. Why did I have to be cursed with such a temper? Why must I lash out and hurt the one person who means more to me than anything and anyone on this earth? Why can't I just listen, not jump to conclusions?

_He only wants the best for you, Saria._

That voice. I call it conscience. It doesn't make an appearance very often. I think it hibernates a lot. On those rare occasions it does roar to life, it's usually something to do with Assef. He was - and is - the one person who I feel remorse for if I hurt.

Conscience spoke on. _He doesn't say these things to piss you off. All he wanted was to give you advice, because he loves you, because he knows what's best for you. But no, you don't want to listen, do you? Instead you lash out and say the most vile things you can think of. Great job, Saria. What a wonderful sister you are._

The thing with conscience, I've learned, is that when it comes to Assef, it will always win. Each word, each thought, only served to bring more tears to my eyes. I'd wipe one away only to be greeted by another. They were a river, an uncontrollable rapid, fast, unmoving. Unforgiving.

I considered going home. I could find my brother, beg for forgiveness, and hope everything would be okay again. Or.. I could keep walking and crying, wanting to be in his arms but too scared to face him. Slowly, I weighed my options, considering the best one.

Walking and crying won by a landslide. Which was fine, for about twenty minutes, until I got the feeling someone was following me.

No. Not just following me. Stalking me.

It was the way their footsteps matched sync with mine, the way they would turn down each street I did. The way even our breath seemed to match. The way.. well.. I can't quite describe it, but you know what it feels like to have someone following you. The terror, the goosebumps. Wanting to run, but knowing if you do, it'll just make your stalker angry. And they'll grab you and you won't be able to scream because their hand is clamped over your mouth like a vice. So you hope and hope that the person following you will get bored and go away, or that it's all in your head and there's no-one behind you at all.

I do have an overactive imagination, after all. I hoped this would be one of those cases. But no.

I'd reached an alleyway, and was still being followed. This was seriously beginning to piss me off. How dare this person - whoever the fuck they were - think it was okay to go around trying to scare me? Especially after the shitty morning I was already having.

Fuming, I whirled round, ready to face my attacker head on. Only to come face to face, with Zainab Qualmari.

Zainab was one of my many, many enemies. A tall twelve-year-old with long dark hair always tied in a bun, and a perpetual scowl drawn upon her tanned face, she'd had it in for me for a long time. I can't quite put my finger on why, though. I was careful. I gave nobody any reason to suspect me of anything. I tried to keep to myself, not wanting to raise awareness to who I really was.

Which made her unexplained hatred towards me all the more unnerving.

Irregardless, though, I was not in the mood to be trifled with that morning. "What the fuck do you want?!"

No sugarcoating. No polite small talk. Just clear, concise and to the point. I was nothing if not blunt.

She smiled cockily, and began pacing around me. "Oh, nothing, Saria. Nothing at all. Can't two friends just talk?"

"You aren't my fucking friend, Zainab. You hate me, and I hate you. Or did you forget that?"

"You hate me?" She stopped inches from my face, her eyes narrowing. "Bitch. What have I ever done to you?"

"I could ask you that same exact question, Zainab. You and your little friends have always had it in for me. Why is that? I've done nothing to warrant it."

A snort. She had me backed against the wall now, the space between us so tiny I was having to arch my back to get away from her. Didn't this bitch ever hear of personal space?

"You know what you did," was all she said before she raised her hand, and brought it down with a stinging crack across my face.

My head lurched to the side, ears ringing, eyes blurring. I'd bit my lip and the metallic taste of my own blood still lingered in my mouth. It made me boil. The fury was palpable, untameable, unmatched. All thoughts of preserving my image went right out the window. The beast had come to life.

"You fucking bitch!" I screamed as I threw myself at her, knocking us both to the ground. I kicked, bit, clawed and scratched at every bit of her I could find. Blind fury was the only thing guiding me at that moment, the desire to punish, to hurt. To see justice done for her crime against me.

The sound of a car backfiring distracted me and I turned my head to the source of the noise. It was only a momentary lapse of judgement, but it was enough for Zainab to turn the tables, knock me onto my back with a fierce uppercut to the jaw, and throw her body weight against mine. She lifted me up by the collar and began slamming me down over and over.

My head bounced against the ground. I tried to fight back, but each time I did, she would only hit or kick me harder. I tried to get up and she pushed me back down, standing on my chest and kicking me over and over in the ribs. It was the most pain I'd ever felt in my life.

_Let it end_, I thought, curled in a ball as Zainab continued to rain punch after punch, scratch after scratch and kick down upon me. Let it end. Let it end.

_Let. It. End._

X x x

I woke, after what seemed like an eternity of blackness, to find myself in a hospital bed. Which meant that (a) I was still alive and (b) Zainab had hurt me quite badly. Well, very, very badly, actually, if the searing pain in my chest was anything to go by. My parents were standing over me, matching looks of concern on their faces, tears welling in the corner of my mother's eyes. They spilled down her cheeks, one after the other, and she didn't even seem to have the heart to wipe them away.

Whether or not those tears were genuine is another story..

Assef was sitting at my bedside, just staring at me. Not saying a word, just staring. It was quite unnerving, almost like he'd turned to stone.

_He's still mad at you_, Conscience piped up. _He hates you. He wishes you had died. He hates you, Saria, he hates you, he hates you, he hates you._

"Good to see you're awake, Miss Ahmed," someone said. I didn't recognize the voice. It was unmistakably male, somewhat gruff, and had pronounced my last name as "Ach-med" instead of the proper "Ah-med".

"Yeah, I am." I figured it was a doctor and turned my head to face him.

Only to realise it wasn't a doctor.

It was a police officer.

"Good." He sat beside me, on the chair opposite the one Assef was in. He was a tall man, probably about six foot or thereabouts, with greying hair and crow's feet. Not someone who commanded the type of respect a police officer should. "I am Officer Basir. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay. I know that's probably the last thing you want to do right now, but it's imperative we find out who did this to you. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Saria, sweetie... Do you remember anything - anything at all - about the person who attacked you?"

"... I.."

"Think really hard about this, sweetheart. You're the only eye-witness we have to this attack. They fled the scene before police could apprehend them. It's really important we catch this person so they can be brought to justice before they hurt anyone else."

I nodded again.

Truth be told, part of me did want to rat Zainab out. But what good would it do? When they found out she was a child, all she'd get was a slap on the wrist. Maybe her parents would have to pay some sort of compensation, but that was it. And is that justice? Is that in any way a proper, deserved punishment for what she'd just done to me?

No. No, it wasn't.

So I lied, as I am prone to doing. I told him I didn't know who attacked me, that I couldn't remember. I said I'd shut my eyes before the first blow came, but that I could remember them having a male voice. I cried and said it was the most terrifying thing I'd ever experienced. I spun web after web of lie through my expert fingertips, pleading, begging for the "mean man" to be caught.

And they believed me. Such gullible fools.

X x x

It was about half an hour of non-stop questions before Basir finally left. My parents went to get food from the hospital cafeteria, and now, finally, Assef and I were alone. I could finally apologise for the horrible way I'd acted, and the unforgivable words I'd spoken.

"Assef?" My voice came out little more than a whisper. "B-Brother.."

"Yeah?" He turned to face me, and I broke down.

"I'm sorry.. I'm so, so, so sorry. I didn't mean what I said, I was just mad, you know and I couldn't control myself and sometimes I just blurt things out. I mean, you know how I get, right? But please, you have to believe me, I never _meant_ to hurt you. I would never, ever, ever do that.. I.."

"Shh, kiddo. Calm. I forgive you. I know you didn't mean it, hell, I've said things in the heat of the moment too. It was just a mistake, sister, I don't love you any less for making them."

He pulled me into his arms, taking care not to hurt my already throbbing body. We sat like that for a long time, him cradling me like a baby and me sniffling out apologies that he merely shrugged off and whispered gentle words of forgiveness with a loving hand caressing my hair.

Then, he pulled away, took me by the shoulders, and said in German, "So, who really attacked you, kiddo?"

"Huh?"

"I know you lied to that police officer, Saria. I know you better than anyone, remember? So tell me, who was it?"

"Zainab Qualmari," I said, without a moment's hesitation. I knew I could trust my brother to keep whatever secrets I divulged with him. "Bitch came right the fuck out of nowhere and just beat me up. No reason, no logic. Just.. punch after punch after kick after kick."

Assef clenched his fists, tilting his head back. "She's dead," he grit through his teeth. "So fucking dead. I'll kill her."

His words struck a chord in the darkness of my heart. _Kill her,_ I thought, _yeah, that's what we'll do. She deserves it. If anyone should die, it's her. She needs to be punished. She needs to suffer. Kill her, kill her, kill her!_

"Assef?"

"Yes, kiddo?"

I leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I want her dead, Assef. And I'm not joking around when I say that. I want her to die.. And I want to be the one who delivers that fatal blow."


	8. God's Vengeance Reigns

Have you ever killed someone?

No. No, of course you haven't. You wouldn't be able to. Your "conscience" would kick in before the fatal blow was even struck, telling you this was wrong, reprehensible. What right do you have, after all, to take a life?

And even if, hypothetically, you were to kill someone, then I'd wager none of you would be able to live with the guilt. How could you? You took a life, you destroyed a family, cut short someone's existence on this earth. You'd go mad with remorse, eventually caging under the pressure and confessing, wanting to take the full punishment for your crime.

So, let me rephrase my question.

Have you ever _thought_ about killing someone?

The answer to that is yes. Don't deny it. We all have these thoughts, whether it be about an annoying friend, or a rude co-worker. I don't care who you are, not one person alive is so perfect that they've _never_ considered killing someone. Even those of you who, at times, shout "I'm gonna kill you" at a friend in jest, do you mean to tell me there isn't some small part of your subconscious that wishes you _could_ kill them?

Maybe you don't know it, maybe you try to deny the want to kill, try to cover it up by claiming it was "just a joke." Maybe you're one of these people who "couldn't hurt a fly" much less actively go out and murder. Maybe you pretend to be a flawless being who doesn't think about murdering the people they hate, who wouldn't kill to save a loved one just as quick as I would for this and other reasons.

But we all know the truth. Call me a monster, call me evil, call me cold-blooded, call me whatever you want. At least I don't deny my impulses, at least I stand up and admit what I am.

So I ask you now, before you read on, to consider this before you judge me. Consider, perhaps, that we aren't as different as you'd like to believe.

After all, what separates you from me?

Conscience? Empathy?

Perhaps. But the thing about those, I've learned, is that they can be very easily brushed aside.

X x x

I remained in the hospital for at least four days. Aside from two bruised ribs and a slight concussion from where my head had been slammed against the ground, I was in "perfect health" as the doctors described it.

Not the exact terminology I'd use, but what do I know?

Throughout my time in hospital - and even after I'd gotten out - there was only one thing on my mind. A task I _needed_ to complete if I was going to find peace. A task that, back then, I didn't even know I was capable of.

Killing Zainab.

I was determined to make her suffer, make her bleed. I wanted to see the bitch cry and beg at my feet, to look in her eyes as the life drained from them and to know I was the one who had taken it. It filled me with a great sense of both pride and satisfaction just from thinking about it.

She deserved to die, after all. She had hurt me, had humiliated and tormented me. The beating I'd received at her hands would stick with me for a long time after. Every punch, every kick, every cruel taunt spat at me, it was all driving me further and further over the edge. I had to be the one to meet out justice, to deliver her sentence. No police nor any other adult knew the right way to avenge my torment.

We had it all planned out, Assef and I. I knew from my expert detective skills, that Zainab often spent time in the woods just outside Kabul. It was within about twenty minutes walking distance and she would go there for hours on end, usually alone most of the time. I'd overheard one of her friends talking to her about it a few months ago - Zainab had said it was her quiet place, her place to reflect and be alone with nature.

Today, though, it would be her place to die.

Everything was planned to perfection. Knife? Check. Gloves? Check. Change of clothes in case of blood-spatter? Check. Foolproof alibi? Check - I would claim I'd been home resting and since Mahmood and Tanya were away there would be nobody to refute my story.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Everything would be perfect. The perfect crime, the perfect murder.

The perfect game.

X x x

"Kiddo?"

"Hm?"

I was on my knees, stuffing gloves and a freshly washed lavender dress into my old book bag, teeth grit in frustration as I tried to close the zipper, which had, as per the usual, gotten stuck. Assef crossed the length of the room, knelt down beside me, and took my little hand in his.

"You're sure about this?"

"About what?" I was genuinely confused by his question. It didn't occur to me, even for a minute, that he might try to talk me out of my plan. Assef was on my side, right? He wanted me to be happy and killing Zainab was going to make me happier than I'd ever been. Why then would he deny me this right?

With a sigh, Assef placed his fingers under my chin and turned me to face him. His blue eyes held such a loving concern within them, it was impossible not to be moved by it. He stroked the length of my hair, once, twice, three times, before leaning over and giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Killing her, Sar." He switched to German now, our go-to language when we didn't want to be overheard. "You're _sure_ this is what you want? I mean.. I'm not trying to say it's wrong or anything.. God knows the whore deserves it.. but.. isn't it a bit of a risk? Wouldn't you just prefer to give her a beating and leave it at that. Eye for an eye and all?"

"No," I answered, without a moment's hesitation. "I wouldn't have put so much effort into planning this if I wasn't determined. She has to die. She has to pay the ultimate price for what she did. If that price is her life, so be it. I'm doing this, Assef, with or without your help."

Another sigh. Then, "Fine. Just.. let me dispose of the body, okay? Like I did with the pets we killed when we were younger."

"You always did love your butcher's role," I giggled, flinging my arms around my brother's neck and kissing his cheek. "But in all seriousness, thank you. For sticking with me on this."

"It's my job, kiddo." He stood up, offering a hand to pull me up off the floor. "Everything ready?"

I held the bag up. "Of course."

"Good. Then let's go."

And we went.

Out the door, down the drive, through the wrought-iron gates, neither of us speaking a word, the bag straps digging into my shoulder blades and making me somewhat nervous as I thought of what lay hidden inside. I couldn't stop imagining what would happen if the zipper broke and the contents of my bag spilled out for the world to see. It wouldn't take a genius to see the knife, the change of clothes and the gloves and put two and two together; to know I was intending to commit murder.

Suddenly my brother's hesitation didn't seem so stupid anymore.

_If we get caught, it's all over. They'll execute us for this. They won't care that I'm a child. We'll be stoned or beheaded, or burned alive. Is this really worth it?_

Yes, I realised, as we reached the forest. Yes, it is. Whatever the consequences, I had to do this. I had to.

No matter what it may cost me, Zainab Qualmari was going to die.

X x x

The forest was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds and the soft crunching of snow underfoot as we walked. I had my gloves on, and the knife safely hidden away in my dress pocket. I lay the bag behind a tree, then turned to my brother.

"Stay there. I'm going to go look for her."

"You sure you don't want me to -"

"Stay. There."

Assef gave me a look, but said nothing. I walked off, feeling somewhat guilty for how harsh I'd been. He was only looking out for me, I didn't need to be a bitch to him._ I'll make it up to him later,_ I thought, _now get focused, Saria. There's no time to break concentration. Stay. Fucking. Focused._

I trudged through the snow, eyes darting every which way, scouring the forest for my victim, the way a lioness hunts for prey.

_She better be here, there's no point if she isn't. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?!_

Minutes passed, though it seemed like hours without her. Each passing second only filled me with more dread, more rage. This needed to be perfect and how could one commit the perfect murder if the victim wasn't there to be killed?

How could a game be won if all the players weren't available?

X x x

Finally, I spotted her.

She sat on a tree stump, her eyes closed and head tilted back. She was muttering something under her breath, whether prayer or poem I didn't know, nor did I care to find out. I stalked towards her, quiet as a mouse. Within a minute or two, I was directly behind her. I pulled the blade - a twelve inch steak knife - out of my pocket and, without a word, drove it through the back of her neck. It squelched as it collided with bone, skin and muscle.

Zainab gargled and rolled off the tree stump, landing with a thud on her back. Blood gushed from the wound on her neck, the knife having gone right through and slicing her throat, too. It sprayed my dress, tights and shoes in crimson as I made my way to the crying, whimpering girl.

Her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of me. "S-Sa... Sar..."

She clutched at her throat, horrified. Her legs kicked futilely against the ground in a desperate attempt to get away from me. Stupid bitch. Did she really think _that_ was going to solve anything?

I knelt in front of her, lifting her head and reaching around to pull the knife back out. With a smirk, I dangled the crimson blade in front of her, wanting to see her reaction to seeing so much of her own blood.

But, aside from a few soft whimpers, I got nothing.

What. The. Fuck?

Where was the crying? The pathetic attempts to get up and crawl away, the garbled pleas as she tried to beg for mercy through her mutilated vocal chords. This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all! She was _ruining_ my plan!

"Fucking bitch!" I snarled, and then all sense of reason, rationality and humanity left me.

I stabbed the knife into her flesh, repeatedly. In, out, in out. Over and over again. Blood squirted from each wound, spraying my clothes, face and hair. But it didn't matter a damn to me, so lost was I in the moment of it all. It took only five minutes before the life drained from her.

Not as much of a challenge as I would have liked, but oh well.

The deed was done.

X x x

"She's all yours." I handed the blade to Assef, who had, thankfully, remained where I'd told him to. "Have fun."

"I think you had enough fun for the both of us," he said, laughing and wiping some blood from my cheek with his own gloved hand. "Go get changed. I'll dispose of the body parts."

Yes, you read that correctly. He said "body parts."

My brother intended, as he had done with the pets we'd murdered, to sever Zainab's head, arms and legs from her torso. "It helps hide the evidence better," he'd told me once, when I was eight and had watched him do the same to the family cat. I slunk off behind a tree and quickly changed, using the blood dress to wipe my face before I stuffed it into the bag and rejoined my brother, who had already separated Zainab's left arm, right leg and half her head from the rest of her body.

_Should have brought a better knife,_ I thought sympathetically as I watched him. His brow was drenched in sweat, hands trembling slightly with the effort.

"Assef?" I placed a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Not now, kiddo, I'm working." He made to turn away from me again, but I stopped him.

"Stop. Let's just dispose of her as she is. I'm bored of this now and you look like you could pass out with the effort."

Assef gave me a look, and I thought for certain he would ignore me. Thankfully, though, he didn't and together we dragged Zainab's corpse to the middle of the forest, covering it with mounds of fresh snow and earth. Her arm and leg we scattered like Hansel and Gretel scattering breadcrumbs.

Once I'd kicked more snow over our footprints, we were ready to go.

The knowledge that I was now a criminal was... invigorating, to say the least. It made me feel strong, in control. Like I could take on the world and nobody would be able to stop me. It made me feel powerful.

It made me feel, if you will, like a god.


	9. Start of War

"Assef?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

We were resting by the fireplace, just as we always did on cold winter nights. Assef sat cross-legged and barefoot in dark green pyjamas and I, in cotton nightgown, lay with my head on his lap. His fingers softly glided through my hair, once, twice, three times in succession. I should have been at peace. Instead, I was wrestling with a thought - one that, should I refuse to let it out, would only serve to eat me up from the inside.

"Do you.." I hesitated. Sitting up, I looked around to check Tanya wasn't listening - we were speaking German, after all - and dropped my voice to a whisper. "Do you think they'll ever find her?"

My brother needed no explanation. "Zainab?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm.. I can't stop thinking about it. Do you think we hid her well enough?"

"Kiddo," Assef laughed, ruffling my hair. "Seriously, you worry too much. Who cares if they find her? There isn't a shred of evidence in those woods that could link us to the killing."

"What about suspects?" I asked. "You're sure we won't come under fire?"

"Saria. If the police are going to be looking for _anybody, _it'll be pedophiles and child-stalkers they'll target, not two rich kids with a squeaky-clean background."

_Squeaky clean? _The thought made me laugh. Assef had, as usual, managed to make me feel better without even trying. It was a great talent of his and one of the many, many reasons I loved him.

I closed my eyes, returning my head to its previous place on his lap. "Thanks."

"For?"

"... Reassuring me, I guess."

There was silence. Then, in a voice barely above a gentle whisper, Assef spoke again. "You own that moment, kiddo. Don't let anyone take it away from you."

And those were the last words spoken between us as night closed in, taking me to slumber with it.

X x x

I woke, little over an hour later, to the sound of gunshots.

"W-What the fuck?!" I exclaimed, putting a hand over my chest to calm my rapidly-thumping heart.

Assef leapt to his feet, tugging on my arm to pull me up. "Gunshots, kiddo, that's gunshots."

_You think I don't _know _that? _I thought sarcastically, but refrained from saying it out loud. Now was not the time. "Yeah.. I know.. but why...?"

"Don't know. Don't care right now. Just... come with me, okay? You can stay in my room tonight."

Without another word, he grabbed my hand, practically dragging me up the stairs and into his room. I didn't sleep there often, only in times when I was too frightened or upset to sleep on my own. Another gunshot rang out, closer this time. I nearly jumped out of my skin, scurrying to the bed and pulling the covers over myself - just as I used to as a child after a nightmare. Assef climbed in beside me, pulling me close and covering my ears with both his hands.

"It's okay, kiddo," he whispered, his breath hot on the back of my neck. "They won't hurt us, I promise. It's okay. It's okay."

The words were like a mantra, softly repeated over and over again. To this day, though, I can't tell if who he was trying to reassure - me or himself.

And that, above anything else that night, is what frightened me the most.

X x x

The monarchy had ended.

Mahmood explained it to us all at breakfast the next morning. While the king was away, his cousin, Daoud Khan, had organised a coup and overthrown the monarchy. Afghanistan was a democracy now, something it had never been before.

"It's a good thing, Sar," Assef said that afternoon as we sat on a wall by the barracks, legs dangling and handfuls of cashew nuts in our laps. Wali and Kamal had joined us, and were sitting on the ground like the good dogs they were.

"It is?"

He smiled. "Of course. Mahmood knows Daoud Khan, after all. That means we're already in his favour. He came for dinner last year, remember?"

I nodded, though I wasn't too sure if I did remember or not. Mahmood had a _lot _of guests for dinner last year, he'd just gotten his big promotion and was doing a tonne of ass-licking at the time. None of his guests mattered to me, which is probably why I couldn't remember them.

"My father says it's wrong," Wali piped up. "He says without the king we'll have power and freedom we shouldn't. He says it goes against Allah -"

"I don't give a fuck." Assef kicked Wali in the back, causing the other boy to lurch forward slightly with a low whimper. "Don't talk unless you've got something useful to say, got it?"

Wali nodded, and it was silent after that. Because we all knew that, what Assef really meant, was "don't talk unless you agree with me."

And I was the only one who ever truly did.

X x x

It was mid-afternoon when we happened upon Amir and Hassan. They'd passed by us at the barracks, arms linked, not paying any attention to their surroundings. Amir was telling Hassan something, his eyes bright, and Hassan was listening ever so intently.

Every so often, he'd laugh, as though Amir's words were the funniest he'd ever heard in his life.

_Pathetic, _I thought, _acting like they're friends. I thought I'd stamped that out, didn't I? Son of a bitch, Amir, get your fucking hands _off _him, he's scum! Fucking _scum!

Assef, probably sensing my boiling rage, picked up a stone and lobbed it at the boys. It struck Hassan right in the back, making him jump and cry out in pain. Amir whipped around, his eyes widening in terror at the sight of us.

"Good afternoon, kunis." Assef spread his arms out in mock-welcome. When he didn't get a response from either of them, he turned to Hassan. "Hey, flat-nose, how's Babalu?"

He was referring to Hassan's father, Ali, a hideously disfigured and disabled man with a face that would haunt a child's nightmares. Hassan gave a small squeak and moved behind Amir, as if he hoped the Pashtun boy would defend him.

"The king is gone, did you hear?" Assef asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "and good riddance I say. My father knows the president, did you know that, Amir?"

"S-So does m-my father.." Amir's voice was so quiet I could barely hear him. He was looking at his feet, refusing to meet my brother's stern gaze.

"So does _my _father," Assef mimicked in a whiny voice. I laughed, and he gave me a sly, mischievous smile before continuing. "Well, Daoud Khan dined at our house last year, and next time he comes I'm going to have a talk with him, man to man. I'm going to tell him about Hitler. Now there was a great man, a great leader. A man with a vision."

"Baba s-says Hitler was crazy.. that he ordered a lot of innocent people killed.

It was the first time I'd ever heard Amir disagree so blatantly with Assef before. And I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit.

Assef scoffed. "You sound like our mother and she's German. She should know better. But then again, you have to read books they don't give us in school. I have, and now my eyes have been opened. And I've got a vision, do you know what it is?"

Nobody spoke, but that didn't bother him. Hitler was Assef's idol, had been since he was my age. He wouldn't pass up a chance to educate someone on his beliefs - beliefs I shared, though I'll admit I didn't quite know as much about Nazism as he did.

"Afghanistan is the land of the Pashtuns," Assef said. "It always has been, always will be. We are the pure Afghans, not this flat-nose here." He was reaching for something in his back pocket, his eyes fixed on Hassan's terrified face. "They pollute our homeland, they dirty our blood. Afghanistan for Pashtuns, I say. That's my -"

He stopped, looked at me, and took my hand. "That's _our _vision."

"J-Just.. let us g-go, Assef." Amir took a step backwards, almost tripping over his own feet. "We're not.. bothering y-you.."

"Actually, you are," Assef said, slowly sliding his brass knuckles onto his hands. They glinted in the sunlight, a reminder of the power my brother held. "You bother me a lot. In fact, you bother me more than this Hazara here. How can you talk to him, play with him, let him _touch _you? How can you call him your friend?"

Assef turned, his eyes meeting mine. I recognized the look in them almost instantly. He wanted to hurt Amir, to punish him. And though I may have liked the boy, I wasn't naive.

He still needed to be taught a lesson.

"You're a disgrace, Amir," Assef said. "You're a disgrace to Afghanistan, a disgrace to us."

He turned, fist raised.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

What I saw made my blood boil. Hassan had bent down while the rest of us weren't looking, picked up a small rock and put it in the cup of his slingshot. Now, with trembling hands, he was aiming it right at my brother's eye.

"Leave us alone, a-agha.."

"Put it down, Hazara."

"P-Please leave us be, agha."

Assef laughed. "Okay. Obviously you don't know how to count, so let me help you. There are _four _of us, and _two _of you."

"And maybe," Hassan said, in a voice that I swore held the same amount of sarcasm Assef was using, "you didn't notice that I'm the one holding the slingshot. If you make a move, they'll have to change your name from Assef the Ear Eater, to One Eyed Assef."

Someone snarled. Someone was running at Hassan now, full speed, screaming in full, unbridled rage.

"Calm, kiddo!" I felt Assef's strong arms grab me around the waist, pulling me back.

That someone was me.

"You should know something about me, Hazara." Assef kept one arm around my waist, the other pointing at Hassan, who was still aiming the slingshot at us. "I'm a very patient person. This doesn't end here. It doesn't end for you, either, Amir."

He had to practically drag me away. I was boiling, shaking in rage, like a pressure cooker about to blow. Someone had threatened my brother, someone wanted to hurt the one person I loved more than anything else in this world. And that someone was a low-life, worthless Hazara. A boy not worthy to lick the dirt from our shoes had the audacity to threaten Assef with harm.

Just the thought alone filled me with a rage the likes of which I had never experienced before. Not even Zainab had made me _this _angry.

Hassan had to burn, I realised, as Assef led me away. He had to suffer, had to be punished, had to be made rue the day he'd ever dared to cross the Ahmed siblings. He had crossed into my territory now and I would show him no mercy.

I had a new enemy to add to my list.


	10. Twelve Burning Candles

December 5, 1974.

The day I turned twelve is also the day the cracks in my orderly little world began to crumble. The day when the rope of lies I had twisted and warped into my own reality began to fray and I was left dangling into a gaping chasm of what the truth could bring.

I went downstairs that morning to be met by Tanya, Mahmood and Assef sitting around the breakfast table. My parents were grinning ear to ear - fake smiles, I could tell - and I noticed my breakfast had already been laid out.

"Happy birthday, Saria," Tanya said as I hopped up on the tall stool - a difficult endeavour for someone of my short stature. "I made breakfast for you."

I looked at the plate laid out in front of me. Toast, still warm, with the butter melted in, and a glass of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice. It was everything I despised in a breakfast and more. I hated when butter melted into my toast and pomegranate juice made me gag. Tanya should have known this. Still, pointing that out would be rude, so I just smiled and thanked her.

Then, because parenting etiquette 101 dictates you have to get your child a present on their birthday, Mahmood slid a brightly wrapped package across the table towards me. It was soft to the touch and had a ribbon hastily stuck to the corner. Covering it was a card with my name scribbled in Tanya's unmistakable joined-up handwriting.

"This is from all of us," Mahmood said as I began to tear into the paper. After much effort (seriously, did Tanya think she was packaging nuclear weapons or what?) I finally managed to rip it off. Out fell a small rag doll, with button eyes, red dress and a sewn on smile. Not at all unlike the one I had plastered across my face.

"She... She's beautiful, thank you." I hugged the doll to my chest, pretending to be completely enamored with it. And my little display must have been working, if the pathetically simpering grin Tanya bestowed upon me was anything to go by.

Mahmood ruffled my hair. "You're welcome, sweetheart." He stood, brushing crumbs from the front of his freshly ironed shirt. For a moment, we all grinned like retards at each other, looking like the perfect greeting-card family.

Then, Tanya spoke. "Your father and I are going to an important meeting, so we won't be back until later this evening. We've arranged with the Quadiri's for Adia to come over and -" She gave my brother a pointed stare, "Assef, you're in charge. There's money on the dresser if you want to take the girls out for dinner later. Our treat for Saria's birthday."

And there it was, their way to make it up to me. Money. Throw some cash at the situation and everything will be okay. Never mind that, as my parents, my birthday was a _far _greater occasion for them than a dumb "business meeting."

Never mind that they shouldn't be leaving me alone with just Assef and Adia for company. Never mind that they should care enough to spend one measly day with their children. Never mind that they don't know a damn thing about me, not even how I like my fucking breakfast.

Never mind any of that, because they had money. And money, as everyone knows, makes everything better.

X x x

"What are you looking for?" I asked, half-an- hour later, sitting on Assef's bed. He was on his knees, routing for something in his wardrobe.

"Your birthday present," he said, then chuckled when I made a confused noise under my breath. "Come on, kiddo, you didn't think I'd just leave you with a stupid doll

as a gift, did you?"

He grinned, and chucked a small black box at me. I barely managed to catch it, giving my brother a confused look as he sat on the bed beside me.

"You'll need to keep it away from Mahmood and Tanya," he said, leaning back on his elbows.

I lifted the lid and, with a shriek of delight, saw exactly why. Inside was a black lighter, the kind only very prestigious, rich people have. It was decorated with a silver chain, and he'd carved an S on the bottom for me.

This was the most thoughtful gift I'd ever received, and I wasted no time in expressing my gratitude, flinging myself onto Assef's lap and kissing his cheek, squealing out my "thank yous" and "I love yous." He laughed in response, ruffling my hair and tickling my sides as he made me promise to take good care of it and never, ever, ever let our parents see.

And for a moment, everything was bliss. I was happy, floating on cloud nine, in fact, and nothing could bring me down.

But just for a moment.

X x x

Adia was quiet that day. Quieter than normal, I mean. She always seemed more somber and pensive around me now, but today... It was slightly unnerving.

We sat on my bed, playing chess. She had her beady little brown eyes fixed on her pawn, her lips stretched into a thin line. Every so often, she would pick the pieces up and tap them against the board, as if it was a musical instrument, playing a song only she knew. Clearly something was up, but I didn't much care as to what. I had a much more important thing on my mind - a fatal faux pas on Adia's part.

She had yet to acknowledge my birthday.

Which, in my eyes, was a big, big mistake. She was meant to be my friend, right? I was being good to her, teaching her how to be strong and face the world - hell, I'd even taken a whipping because of her. I was being a good, kind friend by indulging her with my time and effort. So, was it really that much to ask that she acknowledge such an important day in my life?

A sharp nudge in my side brought me back to reality. "Saria?" Adia was looking at me, her head tilted in confusion.

"What?!" I snapped, perhaps with a bit more force than necessary.

"... It, uh... It's your turn."

"Oh?" I looked at the chess board. "Hm. Pawn to king four."

We played on for an hour, each of us winning a game each. Okay, I may have _let_ her win, but I'll let her have it.

And I waited for her to wish me a happy birthday. I waited while we played, I waited when we talked about school and the new teacher we'd be getting, I waited when she told me Masood was sick and spending lots of time in bed, I waited during lunch when Assef cooked us up lentil soup and we all sat around the table together. I waited, and waited, and waited.

Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

_Stupid bitch, _I thought, _I'm not asking for much, just a simple fucking acknowledgement. How dare she forget after all I've done for her?!_

_How dare she?!_

X x x

Up and down, back and forth. I paced in my room, hands behind my back, teeth gritting. Adia sat on the bed, her legs curled underneath herself, watching me with a mixture of anxiety and confusion.

Finally, I decided I would just have to ask her. A firm hand; that's what she needed.

"Adia..." I sat on the bed, gently taking her hand in mine. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, Saria?"

"You do know what... day it is today, right?"

She nodded, giggling. "Course I do, silly. It's a Tuesday."

Maybe it was being called "silly." Maybe it was the goofy, stupid smile she gave when she answered. Maybe it was the confirmation that yes, she did in fact forget my birthday and no, she didn't care about it. Maybe it was all these things combined. I don't know. But it pushed me over the edge.

"You little bitch!"

With a feral snarl, I raised my hand and - much like I'd done the first time we met - backhanded her across the face. Caught off guard, she gave a terrified squeak and fell off the side of the bed, landing with a thud on the carpet. A noise so loud, in fact, that it brought Assef running.

"What the hell?! What's going on here?!"

The look on his face was a mixture of confusion and worry. He must have thought something had happened to me, because the minute he saw Adia on the floor, his expression changed. It was no longer concern for me being hurt. Instead, the look had changed to one of anger. Anger that the little bitch on the floor had done something to upset his precious sister.

"Saria...?"

I turned, snarling, teeth gnashing. "She forgot my birthday!"

Adia's eyes widened. "T-Today's your b-birthday? I... I... Completely forgot... I was just.. I mean..." She smiled weakly, hoping to get back on my good side. "I'm sorry, Saria, really. H-Happy b-birthday."

I cracked her across the face again. "Too little, too late, bitch."

_She has to be punished. She deserves it. A simple beating isn't going to be enough now, this has to be a lesson that'll _really _impact. You have the weapon, Saria. Burn her, burn the bitch. Burn her!_

"Assef?"

"Yeah, Sar?"

He crossed to my side, placing a hand on my shoulder. No doubt he knew how angry I was, how much I wanted the girl quivering on the floor beneath us to suffer.

"Get me my lighter."

It was all I need to say. Assef, the perfect brother that he is, grabbed the lighter from my vanity desk, holding it out to me. I kept one hand pressed on Adia's chest, stopping her from moving, while the other snatched the lighter from my brother.

"Thanks. Lift up her top for me?"

Assef nodded, kneeling by my side and grabbing a fistful of Adia's t-shirt. He lifted it about half-way, exposing her bare midriff for punishment.

With a grin, I clicked the lighter.

The flame shone brightly in my hand, bright, orange and deadly. Adia let out a frightened squeak at the sight of it, twisting under my firm grip like a fish caught on a hook. "N-No! Noooo... Please... Pl-"

Her whimpers turned to screams of agony, the flesh turning an angry red at the touch of the flame. I moved it over her stomach, slowly burning her. Her flesh turned red, the colour of pain, and her screams reached a deafening pitch.

Then, her eyes met mine, and I froze.

They were shining with tears of hurt, pain and betrayal. And reflected in them, I saw the face of true evil.

Wild blonde hair, blue eyes that hid the devil behind them. Face contorted into a merciless sneer.

That was me.

_Look at you, _a voice in my head piped up. _Look what you're doing. Look at how scared she is. You hurt her, and for what? All because she forgot your birthday? All because you're so desperate for gratification, to be _worshipped? _All because you can't bear the thought that people have lives outside of you? You're a monster, Saria, a monster!_

"N-No..."

I clicked the lighter off, letting it fall with a thud to the ground. I struggled to my feet, tripping over myself as I staggered backwards. _I'm not a monster. I'm not. It's her fault, everything's her fault._

Conscience kept on at me. _Or are you just saying that?_

It was the first time I'd ever come close to feeling any sense of guilt or compassion for someone who wasn't Assef. That alone terrified me. I had tried so hard to keep people out, to push everyone else away. And now, now I was faced with the prospect that the terrified child quivering beneath me could be breaking down the walls of hatred I had taken so long to build.

I couldn't handle that.

So I ran.

Out the door, down the stairs, out into the front garden. I ran down the drive and through the gate, not knowing where I was going, and not caring.

"Saria!"

Assef was chasing me now. I could hear him screaming my name, screaming at me to stop.

"Saria, wait! Kiddo, what's wrong? Come back, please!"

_Keep running, Saria. He's going to lie again. To tell you that you aren't a monster, but you are. _

The voice of Conscience was getting louder now, daring to turn me against my own brother. It made me feel sick, and, as I reached the barracks, I could take it no longer.

My knees gave way and I collapsed to the ground, retching and screaming and crying. Everything was a mess, my perfect world and perfect image coming undone. Conscience was louder than ever, calling me a monster, demon, soulless, evil. Telling me that I was a horrible person, that I deserved the worse pain for what I'd just done. Telling me that Adia was the victim and I should feel ashamed for burning her.

_NO! _I fought against my own thoughts. _It is her fault, all her fucking fault. She deserved to be hurt. I've done nothing wrong here. Anybody with self-respect would have done the same thing. What was I supposed to do, just let her get away with it? I only punished her to help her learn a lesson. She has to learn not to neglect her friends. The pain is a necessary part of that. I'm not evil. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not._

"Saria!"

Assef fell to his knees beside me, pulling me into his arms. I screamed and struggled and fought against his grip, wanting his comfort but at the same time being too afraid to accept it. He pressed my head to his chest, rocking and cooing.

"Shh... Shh, kiddo, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here."

"A-Adia..." It was the only thing I could say.

"I sent her home, kiddo. With a warning to never speak of this to anyone," my brother said, obviously misinterpreting my worry. I nodded weakly, and he pulled back to look in my eyes. "Now, Saria, what's got you so upset?"

Could I tell him? Normally I would - Assef and I shared everything together. But right now, I wondered what he could do to help me. All he'd do was reassure me that everything was okay, that it was all Adia's fault and that I shouldn't worry about it. He'd pretend that I wasn't a monster and that I'd done the right thing.

It might have worked before. But now, I didn't know what, or who, to believe.

So I just whimpered, croaking out that I'd just over-reacted because of what Adia had done. I blamed her again. Blamed her for what, deep down, I knew was my fault.

And I pushed Conscience away, pushed the little voice that called out my own wrongdoings to the back of my mind. Was I a monster, or was I the victim? Could I be blamed for standing up for myself, albeit in a rather cruel way? Was my conscience the liar, or was I?

I didn't know. I still don't. Maybe I never will.

But I would fight to build my walls up again, and do whatever it took to stop Adia, or anyone else, from breaking them down.

My walls were the only things keeping me from facing the reality of who I was.

And behind them, I could be in control. Perfect.

Safe.


End file.
